A  BOOK  OF 
ONE-ACT  PLAYS 


STUART  WALKER 
ALTHBA  THURSTON 
WILLIAM  O.  BATES 
MARGRETTA  SCOTT 
M  A  X  EHRMANN 
BERNARD  SOBBL 
JBANBTTB  MARKS 
ALICE  GERSTBNBER<G 


THE  BQBB34JERWLL  COMPAHT 
PUBLISHERS 


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fro*  214  Dec.  A* 


A  BOOK  of 
ONE-ACT  PLAYS 


A  BOOK  OF 
ONE-ACT    PLAYS 


Compiled  by 
BARBARA  LOUISE  SCHAFER 

Teacher  of  English  in  the 
Indianapolis  Technical  High  School 


H  OF 
OF  EBAMATIC  AR! 


INDIANAPOLIS 

THE  BOBBS-MERRILL  COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright,  1922 
By  The  Bobbs-Merrill  Company 


Printed  in  the  United  States  of  America 


ACKNOWLEDGMENT 

I  am  greatly  indebted  to  the  authors  and  publishers 
who  have  so  generously  permitted  their  plays  to  ap 
pear  in  this  collection.  I  desire  to  express  special 
thanks  to  Professor  T.  E.  Rankin  of  the  Rhetoric  De 
partment  of  the  University  of  Michigan,  whose  en 
thusiasm  first  inspired  me  with  interest  for  the  one-act 
play ;  to  Principal  M.  H.  Stuart  of  the  Arsenal  Tech 
nical  Schools  for  his  kind  interest  in  the  work ;  and  to 
Miss  Mabel  Goddard,  Head  of  the  English  Department 
of  the  Arsenal  Technical  Schools,  whose  generous  as 
sistance  and  cooperation  have  been  invaluable  in  the 
preparation  of  this  little  volume. 

B.  L.  S. 


PHOPERIY  OF 
DEPABTKEHT  OF  DRAMATIC  ART 


INTRODUCTION 

THE  ONE-ACT  PLAY:    Its  Relation  to  the  Short  Story 

One  fateful  night,  we  are  told,  a  king  was  enter 
tained  at  the  home  of  his  most  famous  general.  But 
even  as  he  supped,  the  treacherous  host  sat  in  another 
room  of  his  castle,  planning  the  murder  of  his  royal 
guest.  He  mused  upon  the  deed  at  length,  until  in 
the  silence  of  his  own  chamber,  he  began  to  speak 
aloud : 

"If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly." 

And  the  significance  of  Macbeth's  assertion  is  not 
confined  to  the  complexity  of  the  affairs  which  called 
it  forth.  It  would  scarcely  be  an  extreme  perversion 
to  extend  the  significance  of  this  declaration  further. 
Indeed  the  "key-words"  of  all  modern  life  may  be  said 
to  be,  "  Twere  well  it  were  done  quickly !" 

This  tendency  toward  brevity  and  compression,  is 
perhaps  most  phenomenal  in  the  field  of  literature.  In 
a  certain  sense  the  short  story  has  already  superseded 
the  novel;  and  now  its  congenial  cousin,  the  one-act 
play,  has  come  to  assume  certain  of  the  prerogatives 
of  the  traditional  drama ! 

Of  these  two  "short"  forms,  the  short  story  having 
been  longer  with  us,  is  better  known.  Its  limits,  pos- 


INTRODUCTION 

sibilities,  and  technique  have  been  so  frequently  ex 
hibited  as  to  require  little  discussion.  The  workings 
of  the  one-act  play,  though  similar,  are  more  abstruse. 
In  either  case,  however,  it  is  essential  for  a  sane  com 
parison  that  the  form  shall  speak  for  itself. 

An  interesting  introduction  to  the  modern  one-act 
play  may  be  obtained  in  the  little  plays  of  this  volume. 
Simple  situations,  "out-of-the-way"  episodes,  single 
ideas,  and  few  characters  make  up  the  effectiveness  of 
each. 

As  may  be  seen,  often  the  one-act  play  is  only  a 
"dramatized  anecdote"  without  any  particular  com 
plication  of  plot.  In  so  short  a  space,  there  can,  of 
course,  be  little  or  no  character  development,  but  there 
certainly  is  character  portrayal,  and  that  of  a  rather 
subtle  sort.  The  characters  in  these  plays  are  sug 
gested  by  a  few  broad  telling  strokes,  at  the  outset  being 
sometimes  connected  by  a  bit  of  sparkling  dialogue : 

THE  BANK  ROBBERY 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (Whispers):  The  stuff  is  in  our 
hands,  boys.  Get  to  work. 

FIRST  ROBBER:     I  got  me  drill  ready. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Quick,  attach  the  wires. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Say — soft  pedal  that  gas.  I 
ain't  hurryin'. 

Were  these  characters  to  be  described  in  a  short 
story  they  would  undoubtedly  lose  some  of  the  innate 
charm  which  the  first-hand  contact  of  the  playlet  re 
veals.  In  the  one-act  play  a  personal  sense  of  com 
panionship  is  gained  through  action  and  speech,  while 
in  the  short  story  the  characters  are  viewed  more  dis- 


INTRODUCTION 

tantly  and  indirectly  because  of  the  combination  of 
speech  and  action  with  description  and  analysis. 

How  utterly  inadequate  would  indirect  methods  be 
come  in  the  treatment  of  vivacious  life!  The  short 
story  gives  its  readers  the  opportunity  of  probing 
down  into  the  depths  of  a  man's  mind,  we  may  study 
there  at  length  his  problems  and  his  emotions, — his 
loves  and  his  hates.  The  value  of  all  this  should  not 
be  underestimated.  There  is,  however,  a  possibility 
that  there  has  been  of  late  an  extreme  pyschological 
emphasis  in  the  short  story,  so  it  is  refreshing  to  find 
more  frequently  in  the  one-act  play  the  action  which 
results  in  a  deed.  And  in  one-act  plays  like  The  Bank 
Robbery  and  The  Deacon's  Hat  physical  action  has  its 
importance. 

This  physical  action  of  the  one-act  play  creates  in 
tensity.  There  is  a  compression  about  the  play  for  the 
narrow  compass  demands  that  the  dialogue  though 
entertaining  be  succinct.  It  is  not  always  so  with  the 
short  story,  often  its  primary  interest  is  in  style.  Even 
when  the  plot  of  the  story  is  well  handled  it  is  fre 
quently  the  complete  and  illuminating  descriptions 
which  give  it  its  fine  artistic  finish. 

On  the  other  hand,  some  one-act  plays  are  simply 
impressions,  but  powerful  impressions.  In  fact  there 
is  little  to  forget,  because  there  is  so  little  action.  As 
in  the  little  drama,  In  the  Light  of  the  Manger,  and 
Ever  Young  the  illumination  is  great  just  because 
there  is  no  thesis,  there  is  simply  a  transcendent  pic 
ture  of  life.  In  even  so  short  a  compass  the  reader's 
experience  is  permanently  enriched;  he  learns  for  the 
first  time  the  life  of  a  new  world. 


INTRODUCTION 

Now  if  this  same  theme  were  to  be  developed  in 
the  short  story  it  might  have  a  tendency  to  become 
sentimental ;  it  would  then  demand  a  fuller  treatment, 
and  there  is  danger  in  expanding  what  is  best  when 
only  stated.  But  here  in  the  little  drama  there  is 
nothing  irreverent,  nothing  cheap. 

Like  the  short  story,  the  one-act  play  would  teach  as 
well  as  entertain.  The  Exchange  illustrates  well  the 
acceptability  of  dramatic  teaching,  and  the  superiority 
of  its  portrayal  over  the  didacticism  of  a  story  in  the 
Hawthorne  style. 

Sometimes  the  one-act  play  presents  an  ugly  pic 
ture,  and  the  effect  as  a  whole  is  morbid  and  unhealthy. 
Somehow  we  like  this  kind  of  realism  better  in  the 
story ;  for  example,  in  one  such  as  Hardy  sometimes 
employs.  We  want  it  meditated ;  even  a  taste  taken 
directly  in  the  one-act  play  makes  a  person's  mouth 
"puckery." 

But  by  far  the  greater  number  of  one-act  plays  are 
of  a  healthier  nature,  though  they  often  deal  with  the 
follies  and  secret  tragedies  of  modern  life.  Among  the 
one-act  plays  which  seem  most  akin  to  the  story  are 
those  which  George  Middleton  styles  "plays  of  con 
temporary  life."  They  deal  with  intense  moments  in 
the  lives  of  thinking,  feeling  men  and  women.  As 
Middleton  himself  expresses  it,  "They  make  no  pre 
tense  save  to  show  character  in  action,  and  in  several 
instances  to  picture  its  different  reactions  from  the 
same  stimulus."  "Certain  ideas,"  he  tells  us,  "find 
their  best  expression  in  the  concentrated  episode." 

An  so  one  might  continue,  finding  always  in  the 
one-act  play  as  in  the  short  story,  variety  of  theme, 


INTRODUCTION 

variety  of  treatment,  and  of  charm.  In  each  we  ex 
pect  a  skilful  technique ;  indeed  both  demand  a  fineness 
of  construction.  The  short  story  has  been  defined  as 
"a  brief,  original  narrative  free  from  excrescence  of 
events  cunningly  arranged  for  the  production  of  a 
single  predetermined  effect."  But  where  we  might  en 
dure  a  little  extraneous  material  in  the  short  story,  we 
can  not  permit  it  in  the  one-act  play.  The  latter  form 
must  always  remain  a  supreme  example  of  concentra 
tion,  intensity,  and  "crystallization." 

There  are  those  with  us  who  decry  both  the  brief 
story  and  the  brief  play  because  of  their  limitations. 
To  be  sure,  it  must  be  admitted  that  in  these  shorter 
forms  problems  do  not  have  to  be  solved,  and  certain 
arbitrary  premises  can  well  be  taken.  Both  the 
dramatist  and  the  novelist,  on  the  other  hand,  have  to 
possess  a  keener  and  more  penetrating  imagination, 
and  a  finer  discrimination  than  the  authors  of  the 
short  story  and  the  one-act  play.  Sometimes,  how 
ever,  limitation  spells  advantage.  With  Percy  Mac- 
Kaye  we  may  say  that  these  distinctive  forms  are 
capable  of  expressing  what  the  longer  forms  can  not. 

So  we  return  to  Macbeth  as  he  sits  in  his  castle, 
planning  the  murder  of  his  royal  guest.  Again  we 
would  venture  a  literary  application  of  his  regicidat 
musing : 

"If  'twere  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly." 

And  in  the  light  of  modern  workmanship  one  might 
be  forgiven  for  adding  this  explanatory  sentiment : 

"For  'tis  not  only  quickly  done,  but  well !" 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

NEVERTHELESS— 
Stuart  Walker 

THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT— 
Margretta  Scott 23 

THE  BANK  ROBBERY — 
Max  Ehrmann 37 

THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON— 
William  O.  Bates 55 

IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER— 
William  O.  Bates °> 

PHOEBE  LOUISE— 
Bernard   Sobel 77 

EVER  YOUNG — 
Alice  Gerstenberg 97 

THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "No"— 
Claudia  Lucas  Harris *33 

THE  DEACON'S  HAT—     , 
Jeanette  Marks 155 

THE  EXCHANGE — 
Althea    Thurston 189 


N  EVERTHELESS 

By 
STUART  WALKER 


STUART  WALKER 

Stuart  Walker  is  one  of  the  best-known  producers 
and  playwrights  in  America.  He  was  play  reader, 
actor,  and  stage  manager  with  David  Belasco,  1909- 
14,'  but  he  has  been  an  independent  producer  since 
July,  1915.  He  is  a  producer  in  New  York  during 
the  winter,  and  in  Indianapolis  and  Cincinnati  during 
the  summer.  He  is  the  author  of  Portmanteau  Plays, 
1917,  More  Portmanteau  Plays,  1919,  The  Birthday 
of  the  Infanta,  a  dramatization  of  Oscar  Wilde's  story, 
Portmanteau  Adaptions,  1921,  etc.  He  is  a  member  of 
the  American  committee  of  the  Salzburg  Festival 
Theatre,  one  of  the  greatest  forces  in  the  theaters  of 
the  world. 

Stuart  Walker  is  the  originator  of  the  Portmanteau 
Theatre,  and  has  frequently  delighted  "young  people 
from  seven  to  seventy"  by  his  delightful  Portmanteau 
performances.  Both  the  children  and  grown-ups  who 
have  been  fortunate  enough  to  see  these  perform 
ances  will  never  forget  them. 

No  playwright  is  more  dearly  loved  by  the  children 
than  is  Stuart  Walker,  and  he  pleases  them  greatly 
when  he  himself  acts.  (He  has  plans,  too,  for  a  real 
theatre  especially  for  the  little  folks.)  Probably  not 
since  the  days  of  Peter  Pan  has  anything  pleased  the 
children  so  much  as  Mr.  Walker's  own  plays,  such 
as  Six  Who  Pass  While  the  Lentils  Boil  and  its 
sequel,  Sir  David  Wears  a  Crozvn.  Adults,  too,  are 
charmed  by  the  picturesqueness,  originality,  quaint 
humor,  and  beautiful  idealism  of  the  Portmanteau 

2 


NEVERTHELESS  3 

plays ;  they  will  never  forget  that  "a  trimplet  is  a  hole 
that  a  sunbeam  makes  in  a  shadow,"  that  "etiquette 
is  a  set  of  rules  made  by  people  who  never  smile,"  or 
that  "heaven  is  full  of  days  and  they're  all  coming 
this  way." 

All  theatre-goers  owe  Stuart  Walker  much.  Ed 
ward  Hale  Bierstadt  has  said  of  him:  "I  do  not 
think  I  have  ever  known  a  man  who  gave  more 
unsparingly  of  himself  in  all  his  work.  His  never 
wavering  belief  in  his  work  and  his  ability  has 
brought  him  through  many  a  pitfall.  It  is  not  a 
petty  vanity  but  the  strong  conceit  of  the  artist,  that 
which  most  of  us  call  by  the  vague  term  'ideals'." 


NEVERTHELESS 

The  regeneration  of  this  burglar  is  not  at  all  an 
ordinary  one  since  it  is  accomplished  by  two  children 
and  a  dictionary.  But  the  very  whimsicality  of  the 
play  is  its  charm.  As  Edward  Hale  Bierstadt  puts 
it,  "Whether  or  not  one  likes  Nevertheless  depends 
entirely  on  one's  point  of  view.  If  one  looks  at  it 
in  the  cold  gray  light  of  middle-aged  inexperience  it 
is  doubtless  a  rather  tedious  trifle,  but  if  one's  eyes 
are  those  of  childhood  'where  every  one  lives  happy 
ever  after'  and  an  all  abiding  faith  in  the  ultimate 
fitness  of  things  is  the  chief  tenet  of  one's  conviction 
— one  will  like  the  play." 

Nevertheless  can  be  directly  traced  to  a  course  in 
the  English  and  Scottish  Ballad  that  Mr.  Walker  once 
took  under  George  Morey  Miller,  who  is  now  profes- 


4  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

sor  of  English  in  the  University  of  Idaho.  It  was 
an  experiment  in  the  simplicity  of  "folk"  lore  tried 
on  the  stage. 

(Copyrighted,  1921,  by  Stewart-Kidd  Company.  All 
rights  reserved.  Reprinted  by  permission  of  the  publishers, 
Stewart-Kidd  Company  from  Portmanteau  Plays  by  Stuart 
Walker.  This  play  is  fully  protected  by  copyrights.  All 
public  performances  are  forbidden.  All  dramatic  and  pro 
ducing  rights  are  retained  by  Stuart  Walker  who  may  be 
addressed  at  304  Carnegie  Hall,  New  York  City.) 


PROPERTY  OF 
DEPABTKEBT  CF  DKAHATR  ART 

NEVERTHELESS 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

A  GIRL. 
A  BOY. 
A  BURGLAR. 

THE  SCENE  is  a  room  just  up-stairs. 

THE  TIME  is  last  night — or  to-night,  perhaps. 

PROLOGUE:  Our  next  play  is  an  interlude  be 
fore  the  curtains.  You  may  sleep  during  an  inter 
lude,  but  you  mustn't  snore  or  have  the  nightmare 
because  that  would  be  very  discourteous  to  the 
author  and  very  discouraging  to  us.  We  can  not  live 
if  you  do  not  like  us,  and  you  can  not  like  us  if  you 
do  not  keep  awake. 

(After  the  Prologue  has  bowed  the  Device-Bearer 
brings  two  chairs,  a  stool,  a  table,  a  lamp  and  places 
them  on  the  forestage.  If  you  are  not  a  very  grown 
up  you  know  immediately  that  you  are  in  a  room  that 
belongs  to  very  young  people. 

(The  Boy  enters  carrying  a  book.  He  is  angry. 
He  looks  around  to  see  if  any  one  is  looking  and 
then  goes  to  the  table  and  tries  to  remove  some  money 
from  a  small  bank  that  has  two  locks;  but  he  can't 
find  the  keys. 

(As  he  is  shaking  it  violently  in  an  attempt  to  force 
it,  the  Girl  enters.) 

GIRL  :    Billie ! 

5 


6  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

BOY:     I  will   force  it! 

GIRL:     You  made  a  compact  with  me. 

BOY:  Don't  use  words  like  that — I  hate  words. 
(He  continues  to  try  to  force  the  bank.) 

GIRL:     It's  a  miserable  shame,  Billie  Cleves! 

BOY:  Now,  Lou,  don't  use  any  more  words  on 
me.  I  won't  stand  it. 

GIRL:     Well,  what  shall  I  say? 

BOY:     Say  dirty  shame. 

GIRL  :    Billie ! 

BOY:  I  don't  care.  I'm  tired  of  being  corrected 
all  the  time.  When  I'm  old  enough  to  paddle  my 
own  canoe,  I'm  going  to  murder  grammar  all  the 
time.  I'm  going  to  use  short  words  and  I  hope  I'll 
say  "I  seen"  and  "I  would  have  went." 

GIRL:     Billie  Cleves! 

BOY:  And,  if  I  can  get  this  bank  open,  I'll  go 
away  forever  to-night  and  I'll  talk  just  as  I  please. 

GIRL:     My,  Billie!     You  are  angry! 

BOY:  Angry!  I'm  mad!  I'm  awful  mad!  (Pic 
shakes  the  bank  terrifically.) 

GIRL:     You'll  break  it. 

BOY:     I  don't  care.     I'm  going  to  bu'st  it — 

GIRL:  Billie,  mother  wouldn't  like  that  word  at 
all. 

BOY:  I  don't  care.  I'm  going  to  bu — break  it 
open  and  then  I'm  going  to  leave  home  forever.  (He 
puts  it  on  the  floor  and  starts  to  trample  it.) 

GIRL:  Billie  Cleves,  don't  you  dare!  That's  half 
mine.  And  you  can't  open  it  unless  we  both  agree. 

BOY:    Who  said  so? 

GIRL:     Why,  it  was  our  compact 


NEVERTHELESS  7 

BOY:  If  you  were  fourteen  years  old,  Louise 
Cleves,  and  your  mother  punished  you  for  speaking 
bad  English  you'd  forget  all  about  compacts. 

GIRL:    No,  I  wouldn't. 

BOY:    Yes,  you  would. 

GIRL:    No,  I  wouldn't. 

BOY  :  You  don't  know  what  you'd  do ;  you're  not 
fourteen  and  you're  not  a  boy. 

GIRL:  I  wouldn't  break  a  compact  if  I  were  a 
hundred  and  fourteen. 

BOY:     Now,  Lou,  listen. 

GIRL:     I  don't  want  to  listen. 

BOY:     Just  put  yourself  in  my  place. 

GIRL:  Billie  Cleves,  we  agreed  never,  never  to 
open  that  bank  until  we  were  in  need  of  food  and 
clothing. 

BOY:    Well,  I'm  in  need,  Lou. 

GIRL  :  No,  you're  not ;  father  and  mother  give  you 
all  the  food  and  clothes  you  want. 

BOY:  But  I'm  going  to  run  away  forever  and  go 
to  Honolulu  or  Texas. 

GIRL:     No,  you're  not. 

BOY:     I  am. 

GIRL:     Well,  Billie,  you  deserved  to  be  corrected. 

BOY:  All  I  said  was,  "Jim's  a  rotten  rider."  And 
he  is. 

GIRL:    Well,  that  wasn't  nice. 

BOY  (Exasperated  at  not  being  able  to  open  the 
bank):  Lou,  where  is  my  key? 

GIRL:     I  put  it  away. 

BOY:     Where? 

GIRL:     Our  compact  was  for  me  to  take  the  key 


8  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

to  your  blue  lock  and  hide  it,  and  you  were  to  take 
the  key  to  my  pink  lock  and  hide  it  so  we  couldn't 
fall  into  temptation. 

BOY  :    I'll  pick  the  locks  like  a  burglar. 

GIRL:  You  can't.  They're  both  pick-proof.  And 
there's  only  one  key  in  all  the  whole  wide  world  for 
each  lock. 

BOY:     I'll  get  your  key  and  open  your  lock. 

GIRL:     My  key  won't  open  your  lock. 

BOY:     I  can't  find  yours  where  I  hid  it. 

GIRL:     I  found  it  and  hid  it  again. 

BOY:    Where  is  it? 

GIRL  :  I  don't  think  I  ought  to  tell  you,  Billie,  I'm 
afraid  you'll  fall  into  temptation. 

BOY:    How  about  you? 

GIRL:     Boys  are  more  easily  tempted  than  women. 

BOY:    H-m! 

GIRL:    Because  they  get  out  more. 

BOY:     I'll  throw  it  and  break  it. 

GIRL:     Now,  Billie,  don't  be  rash. 

BOY:     I  don't  care. 

GIRL:     Father'll  hear  you. 

BOY:  Father  won't  hear  me  much  longer  about 
this  house. 

GIRL:     Please,   Billie,   read  your  book. 

BOY:  I  won't  do  it,  I  won't.  I'm  sick  of  goody- 
goody  books. 

GIRL:     What  did  mother  give  you  to  read? 

BOY  (Sullenly):    There  it  is. 

GIRL:  The  Narrow  Path!  Why,  she  sent  me  up 
here  to  read  that,  too. 

BOY:    What  for? 


NEVERTHELESS  9 

GIRL:     I  said  "he  don't"  instead  of  "he  doesn't." 

BOY:    Just  after  I  said  it? 

GIRL  :    Yes. 

BOY:    You  are  a  goose. 

GIRL:     But  I  don't  get  angry  like  you  do. 

BOY:  You're  not  as  old  as  I  am.  Other  boys  of 
my  age  do  pretty  much  as  they  please. 

GIRL  :  Well,  here  we  are.  There's  no  use  quarrel 
ing,  because  it's  mother's  plan  to  make  us  read  a 
fine  book  whenever  we  make  mistakes  in  grammar. 
And  you  know  mother's  plans!  (She  opens  the 
book.)  Oh,  dear,  no  pictures!  .  .  .  Let's  hurry 
up. 

BOY:     I  won't  do  it. 

GIRL:     Come  on,  Billie,  and  get  it  over  with. 

BOY:    Give  me  the  keys  or  I'll  break— I'll  bu'st  it. 

GIRL:  I  won't  give  you  the  keys  and  you  won't 
break  it —  William  Qeves,  if  you  don't  live  up  to 
our  compact,  I'll  not  have  anything  more  to  do  with 
you. 

BOY:  I  don't  care.  (He  throws  the  bank  vio 
lently.) 

GIRL:  Billie!  (She  pounces  upon  the  bank  and 
bursts  into  tears.)  I  never  thought  you'd  do  it.  (The 
Boy  moves  about  uneasily.)  I  never  thought  you'd  do 
it.  (She  weeps  torrentially.) 

BOY:     Now,  Lou — 

GIRL  :  You  broke  our  compact  and  tried  to  destroy 
our  bank. 

BOY  (Defiantly):  I  tried  to  bu'st  it — and  I  hope  I 
did. 

GIRL:     Billie  Cleves! — Well,  you  didn't  even  nick 


10  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

it.     (She  takes  up   the  book  after  carefully  placing 
the  bank  so  that  the  Boy  can't  get  it.) 

BOY:  Lou,  won't  you  lend  me  the  keys  a 
moment  ? 

GIRL  (Relentlessly):    You  broke  a  compact. 

BOY:     Please,  Lou. 

GIRL:     I  have  my  reading  to  do. 

BOY:     I'm  going  to  go  away — forever — Lou! 

GIRL  :     Good-by. 

BOY  (Fiercely) :     I  want  my  money ! 

GIRL:     It's  our  money.     And  I'm  the  guardian. 

BOY:     All  right.     .     .     .     Good-by. 

GIRL:  Good-by.  (Reading.)  "The  Narrow  Path 
is  very  steep  and  straight.  It  leads  to  a  land  of  gold 
and  it  is  not  easy  to  negotiate  because  Heaven  thinks 
it  is  best  for  people  to  climb  for  what  they  want. 
Nevertheless — •" 

BOY  :  Are  you  going  to  give  me  the  money  to  run 
away  with? 

GIRL  :     No. 

BOY  :     Good-by. 

GIRL  :  A  compact  is  binding  to  both  parties,  father 
says. 

BOY  :     Good-by. 

GIRL  :  Good-by  (Reading.)  "Nevertheless  — 
neverthelss — "  (She  begins  to  giggle  delicioitsly.) 

BOY:     What's   funny,  Lou? 

GIRL:     Come    here    and    look,    Billie.     (The    Boy 
drags  himself  to  the  book.) 
BOY:    What? 
GIRL:    This  word. 

BOY:     Never — the — less.     It's  like  any  other  word. 


NEVERTHELESS  11 

GIRL:  No,  it  isn't.  Steep  and  straight  and  they 
all  look  like  something.  But  this  is  just  funny. 

BOY:  Nevertheless.  (The  Girl  goes  off  into  gales 
of  laughter.) 

BOY  (Reading  further  and  turning  the  page): 
Here  it  is  again.  (He  laughs.) 

GIRL  :    Where  ? 

BOY:     Here.     (Turning   back.) 

GIRL:  Neverthe — (turning  the  page  and  going 
Into  another  paroxysm  of  laughter  as  she  finds  the 
rest  of  the  word  on  the  next  page) — less. 

BOY:     It  is  funny-looking! 

GIRL:     What  does  it  mean? 

BOY:     I'll  look  in  the  dictionary. 

GIRL:  I  know  what  it  means  in  a  way,  but  I  can't 
explain  it — 

BOY:     So  do  I.     (He  goes  to  the  dictionary.) 

GIRL:  Never — the — less.  (She  looks  up  and  sees 
that  the  Boy  is  busy.  She  looks  around  cautiously, 
then  takes  up  the  bank  and  hides  It.  As  she  hears 
the  Boy  coming  back,  she  resumes  her  seat  and  the 
book.) 

BOY:     It  means  notwithstanding,  yet,  however. 

GIRL:  Dictionaries  never  tell  you  the  real,  honest, 
true,  live  meaning,  do  they,  Billie? 

BOY  (Fascinated):    Never — the — less. 

GIRL:  It's  three  words  all  huddled  together. 
(She  pictures  them  on  her  fingers.) 

BOY  (Counting  the  words  on  his  fingers) :  Never — 
the — less. 

GIRL:    How  did  they  come  together? 

BOY  (Losing  himself  in  the  puzzle) :    I  don't  know. 


12  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

GIRL:     Let's  ask  mother. 

BOY  (Remembering  his  anger) :    No,  I  won't. 

GIRL:     I  will. 

BOY:  Let's  be  independent,  Lou.  I  don't  like  to 
ask  favors  when  I'm  punished. 

GIRL:  Well,  I'm  being  punished,  too;  but  I  want 
to  know  all  about  this  funny  word. 

BOY:     Let's  try  some  other  way. 

GIRL:     I  know! 

BOY:     What? 

GIRL:  They  say  if  you  put  out  the  lights  and  shut 
your  eyes  very  tight  and  wait  very  patiently  that  an 
elf  will  come  and  tell  you  anything  you  want  to 
know. 

BOY:     I  don't  believe  in  elfs. 

GIRL  :     Billie ! 

BOY:     I  don't. 

GIRL:  The  plural  of  elf  is  elves.  We  had  it  to 
day. 

BOY  (Exasperated) :  I  knew  it,— but  I  get  tired  of 
having  to  think  about  everything  before  I  speak. 
Sometimes  I  try  not  to  think  at  all. 

GIRL  (Going  to  the  lamp):  I'm  going  to  turn  out 
the  light. 

BOY  (Scornfully):    Nothing  will  happen. 

GIRL:     Well,  we  can  try. 

BOY:     Lou,  where's  the  bank? 

GIRL:     I  hid  it,  Billie. 

BOY:    You  shan't  hide  my  money! 

GIRL:  Keep  quiet,  Billie,  and  sit  down.  (She 
puts  the  light  out.) 

BOY  (Sheepishly):    I  feel  so  silly. 


NEVERTHELESS  13 

GIRL:    Are  your  eyes  shut? 

BOY  :     No. 

GIRL:    Billy,  please  shut  your  eyes. 

BOY:  I  won't  do  it  .  .  .  I'm  going  to  turn  on 
the  light. 

GIRL:  Now,  Billie  .  .  .  (He  evidently  starts 
for  the  lamp.)  I'll  give  you  the  keys  if  you're  good. 

BOY  :    Now  ? 

GIRL:     No,  afterward. 

BOY  (Turning  on  the  lamp) :    Promise. 

GIRL:  Yes.  (Out  goes  the  light  as  she  pulls  it.) 
Are  you  sitting  down? 

BOY:    Uh-huh! 

GIRL:     Are  your  eyes  shut? 

BOY:    Uh-huh! 

GIRL  :     Tight  ? 

BOY:    Uh-huh! 

GIRL:    And  when  he  comes  don't  talk. 

BOY  :    Uh— . 

GIRL:  'Cause  you  don't  believe  and  you  might 
frighten  him  away. 

BOY:    Uh— . 

GIRL:     Where  are  you,  Billie? 

BOY:     Here  I  am. 

GIRL:     Move  over. 

BOY:     There  isn't  much  room. 

GIRL:  Now.  (Silence.)  Do  you  hear  any 
thing  ? 

BOY:  No.  (Silence.  A  pale  light  appears  be 
tween  the  curtains,  then  a  dark  form.  The  light  is 
shut  off  and  presently  reappears  at  the  table.  The 
Burglar  opens  the  drawer  and,  taking  out  some  pretty 


14  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

things,  puts  them  in  his  pocket.     The  light  goes  out. 
Silence,) 

GIRL  :  Billie,  I  just  can't  stand  it  a  moment  longer. 
Don't  you  hear  the  elf?  .  .  .  (A  sound.)  There 
he  is !  (The  light  comes  on  again  and  the  Burglar 
takes  up  the  bank.  Just  as  he  is  putting  it  in  his 
pocket,  the  Girl  speaks.) 

GIRL:  Do  you  know  what  nevertheless  means? 
(The  bank  goes  clattering  to  the  floor.  The  light 
is  turned  upon  the  two  children.  The  Burglar  takes 
a  step  forward  and  stumbles  over  the  bank.) 

BURGLAR:  Don't  holler.  (The  Boy  turns  the  light 
on.) 

BOY:     A  burglar! 

GIRL:  If  you  don't  move,  Billie,  a  burglar  won't 
hurt  you. 

BOY:     Hold  up  your  hands,  Lou. 

BOY  AND  GIRL  (Holding  up  their  hands) :  We  give 
up. 

BURGLAR:     Put  out  the  light. 

GIRL:  Please  don't  put  out  the  light.  .  .  . 
We'll  be  good.  (A  door  is  heard  to  close  in  the  next 
room.) 

BURGLAR:  Put  out  the  light.  (The  light  goes 
out.)  Who  was  that? 

GIRL  :     Mary. 

BURGLAR:     What's  she  doing? 

BOY  :  Don't  you  tell  him,  Lou.  Make  him  let  you 
turn  the  light  on. 

GIRL  (Deciding  to  weep):    I'm  afraid  of  the  dark. 

BURGLAR  :  Quit  your  bawling  and  put  on  the  light. 
(The  Boy  puts  on  the  light.)  What's  she  doing? 


NEVERTHELESS  15 

GIRL:  She's  setting  the  burglar  alarm  for  the 
night. 

BURGLAR:     How  do  I  get  out  of  here? 

GIRL:  You  can't  get  out  because  if  you  open  any 
thing  all  the  bells  will  ring  and  the  police  will  come. 

BOY  (Bravely  stepping  forward):  We'll  put  you 
in  jail.  (As  the  Burglar  turns,  however,  he  wilts.) 

GIRL:  Billie,  let's  let  him  go  if  he  tells  us  what 
nevertheless  means. 

BURGLAR  :     Huh  ? 

GIRL:    Do  you  know  what  nevertheless  means? 

BURGLAR:     What's   nevertheless? 

GIRL:     It's  a  word. 

BURGLAR:    What's  the  game? 

BOY:  If  you  know  what  nevertheless  means  we'll 
let  you  go. 

GIRL:     It's  a  compact. 

BURGLAR:     Promise  you  won't  give  me  up? 

GIRL:  We  won't  give  you  up.  ...  Sit  down. 
(The  Burglar  sits.) 

BOY:     Where's  your  pistol? 

BURGLAR:     I  ain't  got  none. 

GIRL:     Oh,  you  mustn't  say  that. 

BURGLAR:     Well,  I  ain't. 

GIRL:  It's  very  wrong  to  say  "I  ain't."  My 
mother  would  make  us  read  all  The  Narrow  Path  if 
we  talked  like  that. 

BURGLAR  (Puzzled):    What! 

BOY:     They  carry  pistols  in   Texas. 

BURGLAR:  Well,  I  ain't  never  used  none,  and  I 
ain't  never  been  in  Texas,  and  what's  more  I  ain't 
never  going  to  Texas! 


16  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

GIRL:     He's  a  very  pleasant  burglar,  Billie. 

BURGLAR:  Well,  I'm  in  a  pickle,  but  I  can't  hurt 
no  kids. 

GIRL:     See,  Billie,  how  bad  grammar  sounds? 

BURGLAR:  I  don't  care  nothing  about  grammar. 
When  you  have  to  paddle  your  own  canoe,  you  can't 
take  no  time  for  grammar. 

GIRL  :  Oh,  dear,  Billie,  don't  ever  paddle  your  own 
canoe  .  .  .  Billie  .  .  .  (She  goes  to  whisper 
to  the  Boy.  To  the  Burglar,  as  she  passes  him): 
Excuse  me.  (To  the  Boy):  I'm  going  to  try 
mother's  plan  on  him.  I'm  going  to  read  to  him! 
(The  Burglar  rises  and  looks  around.) 

BOY  (Whispering):     I'm  going  to  call  father. 

GIRL:     Now,  Billie,  maybe  we  can  make  him  good. 

BOY:  Well,  he  can't  get  away  and  he  hasn't  a 
pistol — 

BURGLAR:  Hey,  quit  your  jawing  and  give  me  up 
if  you  want  to. 

GIRL  :     We're  not  going  to  give  you  up. 

BURGLAR  :     Huh  ? 

GIRL:     We're  going  to  read  to  you. 

BURGLAR:     Quit  your  kidding. 

GIRL:     How  does  it  feel  to  be  a  burglar? 

BURGLAR:     Not  so  good. 

GIRL:     Aren't  you  afraid  to  be  a  burglar? 

BOY  :     'Course  not.     Look  how  big  he  is. 

GIRL:     Aren't  you  ashamed  to  be  a  burglar? 

BURGLAR  :  Well  ...  I  ain't  never  burgled 
before. 

GIRL:  Well,  that's  not  so  bad,  but  just  the  same 
we're  going  to  read  to  you. 


NEVERTHELESS  17 

BURGLAR:    What  for? 

GIRL:     Because  you  use  bad  grammar. 

BURGLAR  :     You're  funny  kids.     Ain't  you  scared  ? 

BOY  (Magnificently):    No! 

BURGLAR  (Turning  suddenly):  Huh?  (The  Boy 
retreats  ingloriously.) 

GIRL:     You  wouldn't  hurt  us,  would  you? 

BURGLAR:     Why  wouldn't  I? 

GIRL:     We  didn't  do  anything  to  you. 

BURGLAR:     You  trapped  me. 

GIRL:     We  didn't  know  you  were  coming. 

BURGLAR:     What  was  you  hiding  for? 

GIRL:     We  expected  some  one  else. 

BURGLAR:  Go  on!  (The  Boy  moves  a  chair 
cautiously  toward  the  Burglar  and  finally  summons 
the  courage  to  sit  down  beside  him.) 

BOY  (Pleasantly):    Did  you  know  Jesse  James? 

BURGLAR:  I  heard  of  him  but  I  ain't  never  seen 
him. 

GIRL:     What  made  you  begin? 

BURGLAR:  Never  mind  ...  I  began  and  I 
got  caught.  .  .  .  Now  what? 

GIRL:     I'm  going  to  read  to  you. 

BURGLAR  (Resignedly):     Go  ahead. 

GIRL:     Do  you  want  to  read,  Billie? 

BOY  (Unselfishly):    No! 

GIRL:     This  is  all  about  the  narrow  path. 

BURGLAR  :    Uh-huh. 

GIRL  (Reading):  "The  Narow  Path  is  very  steep 
and  straight.  It  leads  to  a  land  of  gold  and  it  is  not 
easy  to  negotiate  because  Heaven  thinks  it  is  best  for 
people  to  climb  for  what  they  want.  Nevetheless — " 


18  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(The  Boy  and  Girl  burst  out  laughing  so  suddenly 
that  the  Burglar  is  quite  startled.) 

BURGLAR  (Uneasily):    What  are  you  laughing  at? 

GIRL  (Pointing  to  "nevertheless"):  It's  such  a 
funny  word. 

BURGLAR:     Ain't  it  just  like  other  words? 

GIRL:     Don't  it  look  funny? 

BOY:     Don't  it  look  funny? 

GIRL:  I  mean  doesn't  it  look  funny?  (The  three 
huddle  together  over  the  book.) 

BURGLAR  (Muttering)  :N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S. 
Huh!  It  does  look  sort  o'  funny  .  .  .  What's 
the  rest  of  it? 

GIRL  (Reading):  "Nevertheless  the  narrow  path 
is  not  all  hardship." 

BURGLAR:  Maybe  not;  but  it  was  pretty  hard  for 
me. 

GIRL:     Have  you  tried  it? 

BURGLAR  :    Yep.    But  I  slipped.    ...    Go  on. 

GIRL  (Reading):  "On  the  other  hand,  the  prim 
rose  path  is  broad  and  it  slopes  gently  downward,  but 
it  leads  to  the  land  of  thorns.  Neverthe — (She  turns 
a  page) — less — "  (Again  the  children  go  into  gales 
of  laughter.) 

BURGLAR  :     Huh  ? 

GIRL:     Look.     (Again  they  huddle  over  the  book.) 

BURGLAR:  N-E-V-E-R-T-H-E-L-E-S-S.  .  .  . 
It  is  funny.  (He  joins  heartily  in  the  laughter.) 

GIRL:  You  see — it's  three  words  and  they  don't 
mean  anything  unless  they  are  all  huddled  together 
just  like  we  are  now.  (They  all  laugh  uproariously.) 


NEVERTHELESS  19 

BOY  (On  the  friendliest  of  terms  now):  Do  you 
walk  the  primrose  path? 

BURGLAR:     Go  on!     I'm  in  the  land  of  thorns. 

GIRL:  Well,  how  did  you  get  there  if  you  didn't 
walk  the  primrose  path  ? 

BURGLAR:     I  just  naturally  fell. 

GIRL:  Don't  you  know  the  meaning  of  neverthe 
less? 

BURGLAR:  I  sort  o'  know  the  meaning,  but  I  can't 
put  it  into  words. 

GIRL:     Can  you  act  it  out? 

BURGLAR:     What  do  you  mean — act  it  out? 

GIRL:  Sometimes  when  Billie  and  I  can't  put 
things  into  words  we  act  them  out.  Like  this:  If  I 
want  to  tell  some  one  what  revolves  means  I  just  do 
this  .  .  .  and  then  they  know. 

BURGLAR:     Aw,  yes,  you  pertend! 

GIRL:  Oh  .  .  .  Well — Can't  you  p-p-pertend 
nevertheless  ? 

BURGLAR:     I  hardly  think  so. 

BOY:     Did  you  get  tired  on  the  narrow  path? 

BURGLAR:    Ye-eh.     .     .     .     But  I  wish  I  hadn't. 

GIRL:     Can't  you  climb  back? 

BURGLAR:     Nope.     It's  too  late. 

GIRL:     Mother  says  it's  never  too  late  to  do  right. 

BURGLAR:  Sure  it  is.  A  man  what's  been  in  jail 
can't  get  straight  again. 

BOY  (Admiringly):    Have  you  been  in  jail? 

BURGLAR:     No,  but  once  is  enough. 

GIRL:     When  are  you  going  to  jail? 

BURGLAR:     To-night,  I  guess. 

BOY:     What  for? 


20  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

BURGLAR:    For  breaking  in  here! 

GIRL:    We  aren't  going  to  send  you  to  jail. 

BURGLAR  :  Maybe  not,  but  your  paw  and  maw  will. 
(Whimsically):  'Sides  I  can't  tell  you  what  never 
theless  means  and  I  can't  act  it  out.  And  a  compact's 
a  compact,  ain't  it? 

GIRL:  Mother  won't  put  you  in  jail.  She's  too 
kind. 

BOY  (With  sad  memories):  But  she's  awful  strict 
about  grammar  and  ugly  words. 

GIRL:     She  says  it's  easy  to  walk  the  narrow  path. 

BOY:  Father  isn't  so  sure,  but  he  says  it  can  be 
done. 

GIRL  :     Come  on  and  we'll  help  you. 

BURGLAR:     Come  on  where? 

BOY:     Come  on  and  walk  the  narrow  path  with  us. 

BURGLAR:    Where  is  it? 

GIRL  :    Here. 

BURGLAR:    What's  the  game? 

GIRL:  Mother  says  if  we  can  walk  a  straight  line 
out  that  door  without  wabbling,  we  can  walk  the  nar 
row  path  all  our  lives  without  any  trouble. 

BOY:     To  speak  of. 

BURGLAR:    What's  on  the  other  side  of  that  door? 

BOY  AND  GIRL:    Father  and  mother. 

BURGLAR:  You  seem  to  be  pretty  straight  kids, 
but  it's  too  late  for  me. 

GIRL:    No,  it  isn't. 

BURGLAR:  Yes,  it's  too  late.  I'll  take  the  back 
door  and  try  to  make  my  get-away. 

GIRL:    Billie,  you  ask  him. 


NEVERTHELESS  21 

BOY:  I'd  like  to  have  you  come  with  us,  sir. 
Dad's  a  fine  man  and  mother's  a  great  woman. 

GIRL:  All  we  have  to  do  is  to  walk  straight 
through  that  door  without  wabbling— 

BOY:    Come  on — 

BURGLAR:  I  think  it's  too  late  for  me— neverthe 
less-— (7/0  takes  their  hands.) 

GIRL  (Ecstatically):  Oh,  he's  acted  out  neverthe 
less!  Billie,  don't  you  see  the  real,  honest,  true,  live 
meaning?  .  .  .  Come  on,  let's  start.  (They 
start  carefully  for  the  door  and,  as  they  come  to  the 
safe  they  stop.  The  Burglar  looks  ruefully  at  it  a 
moment.) 

GIRL:  Don't  wabble  now.  We've  almost  made 
it— (They  keep  on  for  the  door.)  Isn't  it  easy? 
And  mother  says  if  you  can  do  this  little  bit,  you  can 
do  it  always.  (When  they  disappear  through  the 
door,  the  play  is  over.) 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT 
A  ONE-ACT  PLAY  FOR  CHILDREN 

By 
MARGRETTA  SCOTT 


MARGRETTA  SCOTT 

Margretta  Scott  has  always  lived  in  St.  Louis,  has 
written  since  1914,  and  is  at  present  working  on  her 
first  novel.  Miss  Scott  supplies  no  autobiographical 
information,  but  her  record  as  a  writer  is  distinctive 
and  impressive.  She  is  the  poet  who  won  the  recog 
nition  of  the  late  William  Marion  Reedy,  in  whose 
Mirror  her  poems  have  appeared.  She  has  also  con 
tributed  to  Harriet  Monroe's  Poetry  Magazine,  and 
to  the  Touchstone.  Her  play,  Three  Kisses,  won  a 
prize  in  a  drama  competition  in  1919.  Several  of  her 
poetic  plays  have  been  published  in  The  Drama  (Chi 
cago).  She  posseses  an  exquisite  gift  of  symbolism 
and  lovely  fantasy. 

THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT 

The  "symbolism  and  lovely  fancy"  of  Margretta 
Scott  are  always  refreshing.  Pierrot  is  a  lovable 
little  hero  who  chooses  wisely  his  precious  gift  from 
the  "Clown  of  Clowns."  And  he  makes  a  happy  dis 
covery, — that  there  is  no  need  for  economy  in  the 
use  of  laughter. 

PIERROT:  But,  mister,  suppose  I  use  up  all  the 
laughs  ? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  For  each  laugh  you  take 
out,  two  more  will  take  its  place. 

And  in  the  end  the  Clown  of  Clowns  gives  us  more 
philosophy  than  we  at  first  realize: 

24 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  25 

"Do  you   know   what  your   bag  will  be?     .     .     . 
It  will  be  the  heart  of  Pierrot" 


(Copyrighted.  Reprinted  from  the  Drama  Magazine. 
For  permission  to  reproduce  The  Heart  of  Pierrot  address 
Margretta  Scott,  5414  Delmar  Avenue,  St.  Louis,  Missouri.) 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT 

CHARACTERS 

PIERROT:  Eight  or  nine  years.  He  is  dressed  as  a 
typical  little  clown,  in  a  white  suit  with 
black  buttons,  and  with  pointed  cap.  He 
carries  a  jumping- jack  in  one  hand,  a  red 
bag  in  the  other. 

MAMA  PIERROT  :  A  middle-aged  woman.  She  is  very 
fat,  with  whitened  face,  a  white  dress, 
with  black  buttons  down  the  front  of  the 
waist,  a  white  apron  on  which  are  pasted 
bright  colored  figures  of  clowns,  dogs,  cats 
and  the  like.  A  tall  white  cap  is  on  her 
head. 

AN  OLD  WOMAN  :  She  is  fat  and  wears  a  bonnet 
and  shawl. 

A  NEWSBOY  :  Eight  or  nine  years  old.  He  is  ragged 
and  dirty,  and  carries  papers  under  one 
arm. 

YOUNG  GIRL:     She  is  prettily  dressed. 

LITTLE  GIRL  :  Seven  or  eight  years  old.  She  is 
richly  dressed  and  carries  a  doll  in  her 
arms. 

MOTHER  AND  CHILD:  The  mother  about  thirty,  the 
child  three  or  four.  The  child  is  running 
by  the  mother's  side,  laughing  and  skip 
ping. 

NEGRO  BOY  :  Eight  or  nine  years  old.  He  is  ragged, 

26 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  27 

dirty  and  carries  a  sack  of  coal  on  his 
back. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  Very,  very  old.  He  is 
red,  fat,  rolling  in  gait.  He  is  dressed  as 
the  other  clowns,  but  in  richer  materials, 
with  small  bells  sewed  on  his  clothes  which 
make  a  jolly  noise  when  he  walks. 

SCENE  :  In  a  quaint  little  street  there  is  a  queer  little 
red  brick  house  with  green  shutters  on  which  are  cres 
cent  moons.  Steps  lead  up  to  house.  In  the  front  yard 
are  wooden  cats,  dogs  and  chickens,  all  brightly 
painted.  There  is  snow  on  the  ground  for  it  is  an 
afternoon  in  winter. 

Mama  Pierrot  is  standing  in  front  of  the  house 
talking  to  Pierrot  who  has  just  come  from  the  school 
where  little  clowns  learn  to  be  funny. 

MAMA  PIERROT  :  Were  you  funny  to-day  at  school, 
dearie  ? 

PIERROT  (Working  his  jumping- jack) :  Yep,  I 
made  the  teacher  laugh  so  hard  he  most  fell  off  his 
high  stool. 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Proudly) :  You  always  were  good 
at  playing.  (Anxiously.)  Did  you  know  your 
somersault  ? 

PIERROT  ( Not  so  glibly) :  I  knew  the  single  somer 
sault,  but  I  didn't  do  so  good  at  the  double  one. 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Pleating  the  ruffle  around  Pier 
rot's  neck:)  Say  "well,"  dearie,  not  "good." 

PIERROT:  I  didn't  do  so  well.  (Sticking  out  his 
tongue  and  trying  to  reach  his  nose.)  To-day  I 
reached  my  nose. 


28  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MAMA  PIERROT:  Be  careful,  dearie,  don't  stretch 
your  tongue. 

PIERROT  (Opening  his  red  bag):  I  need  some  new 
toys — these  are  most  worn  out. 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Looking  into  the  bag):  Toys  are 
so  expensive  these  days.  I  must  try  to  get  some 
second-hand  ones.  Are  you  careful  at  school  when 
you  play  with  them? 

PIERROT:  Yep.  (He  takes  a  feather  out  of  his 
pocket  and  tickles  the  back  of  his  mother's  neck. 
They  both  laugh  uproariously.) 

MAMA  PIERROT:  I  must  go  in  now  and  tie  up 
those  pig  tails  for  dinner. 

PIERROT  (Laughing):  I  just  love  pig  tails — they're 
so  funny.  What  kind  of  ribbon  are  you  going  to  use? 

MAMA  PIERROT   (Thinking):    How  about  blue? 

PIERROT:  I  like  red.  (Chuckling.)  Ain't  it  funny 
when  you  take  the  ribbon  off  and  they  wiggle  all 
around  the  plate? 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Absent-mindedly):  Yes.  (Put 
ting  her  hand  under  Pierrot's  chin.)  Dearie,  be  sure 
and  whiten  your  face  before  dinner. 

PIERROT  (Sulkily):     It  don't  need  whitening. 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Reprovingly):  Is  that  the  way 
for  a  little  clown  to  act? 

PIERROT:  Well,  I  don't  care.  I  whitened  it  this 
morning. 

MAMA  PIERROT  :  Do  you  want  to  look  just  like  any 
other  little  boy? 

PIERROT:     No,  ma'am. 

MAMA  PIERROT:  Well  then,  keep  your  face 
whitened.  (She  starts  to  go  into  the  house.) 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  29 

PIERROT  :  I  haven't  got  anything  to  do — what  shall 
I  do? 

MAMA  PIERROT:  You'd  better  study  your  playing 
for  to-morrow — try  turning  those  double  somersaults. 

PIERROT:  I'm  tired  of  that.  (Discontentedly.)  I 
haven't  got  anything  to  do. 

MAMA  PIERROT  (Coming  back  to  him):  I  know 
what  would  be  nice. 

PIERROT  (Interestedly):    What? 

MAMA  PIERROT:  You  stand  here,  and  every 
little  girl  and  boy  who  pass  crying,  make  them 
laugh. 

PIERROT  (Clapping  his  hands):  That'll  be  fun — 
to  make  every  little  girl  and  boy  who  pass  here  cry 
ing,  laugh.  (Mama  Pierrot  goes  into  the  house. 
Pierrot  sings  a  tuneless  little  song;  "They'll  go  by 
crying  and  I  will  make  'em  laugh."  He  zvorks  his 
jumplng-jack  and  tries  to  walk  on  his  hands.  A  Fat 
Old  Woman  enters  from  the  right.  She  shuffles  by, 
smiles  at  Pierrot,  and  goes  on.  After  she  passes  a 
Newsboy  enters  from  the  left.  He  is  crying  and 
blowing  on  his  hands  to  make  them  warm.  His  news 
papers  are  under  his  arm.) 

PIERROT:  Hello.  (The  Newsboy  puts  his  papers 
down  and  beats  his  hands  together.) 

PIERROT  (Offering  his  jumplng-jack) :  Here.  (The 
Newsboy,  still  crying,  shakes  his  head  and  blows  on 
his  fingers.  Pierrot  works  the  jumplng-jack,  but  the 
Nezvsboy  does  not  notice  him.) 

PIERROT  (Suddenly  inspired):  I  know  a  game  for 
cold  hands.  (The  Newsboy  looks  at  him.)  It's  called 
"Hot  Hands." 


30  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

NEWSBOY  (Dubiously):  Does  it  make  your  hands 
hot? 

PIERROT  :     Sure. 

NEWSBOY  (Putting  his  hands  in  his  pockets) :  How 
do  you  play  it? 

PIERROT  (Laying  his  jumping-jack  on  the  pave 
ment):  You  got  to  sit  down  to  play  it.  (They  sit 
on  the  house  steps.)  Now  you  do  what  I  do. 
(Thinking.)  I  know  a  game  that's  better  than  "Hot 
Hands" ;  it's  "Pease  Porridge  Hot."  We'll  play  that. 
Now  you  do  what  I  do.  (Pierrot  puts  his  hands  on 
his  knees,  slaps  them  together,  and  turns  them  palms 
out.  He  sings,  "Pease  porridge  hot,  pease  porridge 
cold,  pease  porridge  in  the  pot,  nine  days  old.  Some 
like  it  hot,  some  like  it  cold,  some  like  it  in  the  pot, 
nine  days  old."  He  suits  the  actions  to  the  words. 
The  Newsboy  follows  him.  Soon  they  are  both 
laughing.) 

PIERROT:     Now  are  your  hands  cold? 

NEWSBOY  (Putting  his  hands  to  Pierrot's  face): 
Feel. 

PIERROT:     They're  hot  as  a  fox. 

NEWSBOY  (Laughing):  Gee,  that's  funny  talk— 
"hot  as  a  fox."  (Picking  up  his  newspapers.)  I  got 
to  beat  it.  So  long.  (He  runs  off  laughing.  Pierrot 
plays  "Pease  Porridge  Hot"  with  himself,  singing  the 
words.  A  pretty  Young  Girl  enters  from  the  left. 
She  smiles  at  Pierrot,  walks  past  him  and  disappears. 
After  she  passes  a  richly  dressed  Little  Girl,  carrying 
a  doll,  enters.  She  drops  the  doll.) 

LITTLE  GIRL:  Oh,  my!  (She  picks  up  the  doll, 
whose  face  is  broken,  and  starts  crying.) 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  31 

PIERROT  (Working  his  jumping-jack  frantically): 
Say,  look  here,  ain't  that  funny? 

LITTLE  GIRL  (Burying  her  face  in  her  arm):  Oh, 
my  doll,  my  pretty  doll! 

PIERROT  (Examining  the  doll):    What's  her  name? 

LITTLE  GIRL  :  Dorothy.  (Sobbing.)  She  was  my 
favorite,  she  was  the  prettiest  doll  I  had. 

PIERROT:  Well,  you  shouldn't  have  picked  her  up, 
you  know. 

LITTLE  GIRL:     Why  not?     She's  my  doll. 

PIERROT  (Mysteriously):  You  should  have  left  her 
in  the  snow.  (He  pauses.)  You  know  what  the  snow 
is,  don't  you? 

LITTLE  GIRL  (Interestedly):     No — what? 

PIERROT  (Dramatically):  It's  Santa  Claus's  mail 
box.  % 

LITTLE  GIRL  (Round-eyed):     What? 

PIERROT  (With  conviction):  It's  Santa  Claus's 
mail  box. 

LITTLE  GIRL:     Honest? 

PIERROT:  Yep — if  you  left  that  doll  in  the  snow 
Santa  Glaus  would  drive  by — 

LITTLE  GIRL:     With  his  reindeers? 

PIERROT:     With  his  reindeers — in  his  big  sleigh. 

LITTLE  GIRL:     And  what  would  he  do? 

PIERROT  :  He  would  take  your  doll  out  of  his  mail 
box. 

LITTLE  GIRL:     Out  of  the  snow? 

PIERROT  (Nodding):  Yep,  out  of  the  snow— that's 
his  mail-box. 

LITTLE  GIRL:     Then  what  would  he  do? 

PIERROT:     He   would   take   it  home,   and  have   it 


32  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

fixed  up,  and  put  it  in  the  stocking  of  some  little  poor 
girl. 

LITTLE  GIRL  (Delightedly):  Oh,  I  think  that 
would  be  very  nice.  (Clapping  her  hands.)  Let's 
put  her  back  in  the  snow  and  bury  her.  (They  bury 
the  doll  in  the  snow.) 

LITTLE  GIRL  :  I  would  like  to  kiss  you,  you  funny 
little  boy.  (Pierrot  laughs  shyly,  and  they  kiss  each 
other.  The  Little  Girl  runs  off  laughing.  Pierrot 
opens  his  bag  and  takes  out  a  rubber  ball.  A  Mother, 
her  Little  Girl  skipping  by  her  side,  enters.  They 
walk  across  and  go  out.  After  they  pass  a  Little 
Negro  Boy  comes  in.  He  is  carrying  a  sack  of  coal 
on  his  back.  He  puts  it  down  and  starts  to  cry,  one 
hand  to  his  eyes,  the  other  trying  to  rub  his  back.) 

PIERROT  :     Hello. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Blubbering):  My  back  hurts — dat 
coal  weighs  a  ton.  I'm  sick  a-toting  it. 

PIERROT:     That's  not  coal. 

NEGRO  BOY:     I  reckon  it  is  coal. 

PIERROT:     No,  that's  not  coal. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Blinking):    What  is  it  den? 

PIERROT  (Dancing  around  the  sack):  That's  a 
little  white  pig. 

NEGRO  BOY:    Go  on! 

PIERROT  (Laughing):  Sure  it  is.  I  heard  him 
squeal  when  you  put  him  down. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Looking  into  the  sack):  Sure  dat's 
coal — and  it's  as  black  as  I  am. 

PIERROT:  It's  a  little  white  pig,  and  you'll  eat  him 
for  dinner. 

NEGRO  BOY:     That's  good  eatin' — pigs. 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  33 

PIERROT  (Sticking  out  his  stomach  and  carrying  an 
imaginary  platter):  You'll  carry  him  like  this  on  a 
big  plate. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Laughing):     Go  on! 

PIERROT:  He'll  be  brown  then  'stead  of  white,  but 
his  tail  will  still  be  curly. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Interestedly):  Them  pigs'  tails  are 
crimped  tight  as  my  wool.  (They  both  laugh.) 

PIERROT:  And  do  you  know  what  he'll  have  in 
his  mouth? 

NEGRO  BOY:     Teeth,  I  reckon. 

PIERROT   (Dancing  gleefully):    No. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Excitedly):    What  den? 

PIERROT:    A  red  apple. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Laughing):     Go  on! 

PIERROT  (Dramatically):  And  do  you  know  what 
he'll  have  in  his  eyes? 

NEGRO  BOY:  I  Aspects  he'll  have  eyes  in  his 
eyes. 

PIERROT  :    No. 

NEGRO  BOY:     What? 

PIERROT:    Red  cranberries. 

NEGRO  BOY:     Go  on! 

PIERROT:     His  eyes  will  be  of  red  cranberries. 

NEGRO  BOY  (Admiringly):  He'll  be  real  smart- 
lookin'.  (Picking  up  his  sack  of  coal.)  Go  on,  this 
ain't  no  pig.  (He  goes  off  laughing.  The  Clown  of 
the  Clowns  comes  in  from  the  right.  His  bells  are 
making  a  jolly  noise  as  he  walks.  He  stops  before 
Pierrot,  his  hands  on  his  hips,  and  looks  down  at  him 
laughing.) 

PIERROT  (Looking  up):    Who  are  you,  mister? 


34  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  I'm  the  Clown  of  the 
Clowns.  (Pierrot  takes  off  his  cap  respectfully.) 

PIERROT  (Appraisingly) :  You're  awful  old,  ain't 
you? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  I  was  born  long  ago — 
long  ago. 

PIERROT  (Interestedly):     How  long  ago? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  When  the  world  first 
grew  sad  I  was  born. 

PIERROT:     Why  was  you  born  then? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  Because  the  world  had 
forgotten  how  to  laugh. 

PIERROT:     When  do  you  think  you'll  die? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS  (Resignedly):  When  the 
world  can  laugh  without  me  I  will  die. 

PIERROT:     Oh!     (There  is  a  pause.) 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  I've  been  watching  you 
make  the  children  laugh.  You've  done  work  a  clown 
should  be  proud  of. 

PIERROT:     How  could  you  see  me? 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS  (With  dignity):  Am  I 
not  Clown  of  the  Clowns? 

PIERROT  (A  little  frightened):    Yes,  sir. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS  :  I  want  to  give  you  some 
thing.  What  do  you  want? 

PIERROT  (Animatedly):    A  lot  of  things. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  Think  carefully.  I  can 
give  you  just  one  thing. 

PIERROT  (Thinking):  I  want  a  bag — (He  hesi 
tates.) 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:    Yes — 

PIERROT:     I  want  a  bag  of  laughter. 


THE  HEART  OF  PIERROT  35 

CLOWN   OF  THE   CLOWNS   (Pleased):    Very  good, 
very  good. 

PIERROT:    Yes,  sir. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:     I'll  give  you  a  bag  full 
of  laughter — and  it  will  never  be  empty. 

PIERROT:     But,   mister,   suppose   I   use  up   all  the 
laughs. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS  :  For  each  laugh  you  take 
out,  two  more  will  take  its  place. 

PIERROT    (Clapping   his   hands):    Thanks — thanks. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS  :  Do  you  know  what  your 
bag  will  be? 

PIERROT:    Jusjt  a  bag. 

CLOWN  OF  THE  CLOWNS:  It  will  be  the  heart  of 
Pierrot.  (The  Clown  of  the  Clozvns  pats  him  on  the 
head  and  walks  up  the  street.  Pierrot  hears  a  rapping 
at  the  window.  He  looks  around  and  sees  Mama 
Pierrot  who  is  smiling  and  beckoning  him  to  come  in. 
He  goes  to  the  door  and  stands  with  his  hand  on  the 
door  knob,  looking  up  the  street  where  the  Clown  of 
the  Clowns  has  disappeared.) 


CURTAIN 


THE    BANK    ROBBERY 
A  TAKE-OFF 

by 
MAX  EHRMANN 


MAX  EHRMANN 

Max  Ehrmann  was  born  in  Indiana,  and  is  now, 
during  a  part  of  each  year,  a  resident  of  Terre  Haute. 
He  is  a  graduate  of  DePauw  and  Harvard  and  is  a 
member  of  the  Author's  Club  of  London  and  of  the 
Author's  League  of  America. 

Mr.  Ehrmann's  earlier  works  are  A  Farrago,  a  col 
lection  of  prose  stories  and  sketches,  and  The  Mystery 
of  Madeline  Le  Blanc,  a  novel.  He  has  published 
books  of  poems  at  intervals.  His  recent  works  are 
the  beautiful  poetic  dramas,  David  and  Bathsheba, 
The  Wife  of  Marobius,  and  Jesus,  a  Passion  Play. 
The  work  which  has  won  for  this  author  universal 
recognition  and  which  perhaps  best  shows  his  aspira 
tions,  is  that  beautiful  prose  poem,  A  Prayer.  It  has 
been  printed  into  the  millions  of  copies,  translated,  and 
is  known  almost  the  world  over. 

Max  Ehrmann  is  so  true  an  artist  that  he  can  not 
yield  his  talents  to  commercial  ends.  He  himself 
gives  as  an  article  in  his  artistic  creed:  "I  would 
rather  live  plainly  and  be  the  author  of  some  bit  of 
chaste  prose  that  should  abide  amid  the  perpetual  flux, 
than  to  live  luxuriously  on  the  returns  of  innumerable 
volumes  of  merely  commercial  fiction." 

The  one-act  play,  The  Bank  Robbery,  is  very  unlike 
most  of  Mr.  Ehrmann's  work.  It  is  quite  as  delight 
ful  in  its  own  way,  however,  both  to  the  reader  and 
to  the  Little  Theatre  lover. 


38 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY        39 

THE  BANK  ROBBERY 

As  the  author's  subtitle  indicates  this  play  is  a 
take-off  on  the  labor  situation.  Though  Mr.  Ehrmann 
writes  farce  only  occasionally,  his  usual  work  being 
exquisite  poetic  drama  and  tragedy,  he  has  here  shown 
himself  to  be  a  master  of  farcical  plot,  climax  and 
humor.  The  student  who  enjoys  O'Henry's  surprise 
endings  in  prose  fiction  will  appreciate  the  element 
of  surprise  here.  It  is  interesting  in  this  connection 
to  contrast  the  difference  between  prose  fiction  and 
dramatic  technique. 


(Copyrighted.  Applications  to  produce  The  Bank  Rob 
bery  should  be  addressed  to  Mr.  Max  Ehrmann,  128^  South 
Sixth  Street,  Terre  Haute,  Indiana.) 


PROPERTY  Of 
C[F;.5T?J[I!T  OF  DRAMATIC  ART 

THE  BANK  ROBBERY 

CHIEF  ROBBER. 
FIRST  ROBBER. 
SECOND  ROBBER. 
NIGHT  WATCHMAN. 
POLICEMEN. 

THE  SCENE  is  in  front  of  a  money  safe,  the  door  of 
which  is  dimly  lighted  by  a  single  electric  light.  All 
else  is  in  darkness. 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (Whispers):  The  stuff  is  in  our 
hands,  boys.  Get  to  work. 

FIRST  ROBBER:     I  got  me  drill  ready. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Quick,  attach  the  wires. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Say — soft  pedal  that  gas.  I 
ain't  hurryin*.  (He  unscrews  the  electric  bulb  over 
the  safe,  and  inserts  another  attachment.  Instantly 
the  low  buzz  of  the  drill  is  heard.  The  room  is  now 
dark  except  for  a  flash-light  on  the  drill  at  the  safe 
door.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  She's  running  fine.  Lay  her  to. 
(The  sound  changes  a  bit  as  the  drill  gnaws  into  the 
steel.)  Get  out  the  dynamite  and  the  fuse. 

SECOND  ROBBER  (Flashing  his  light  over  a  grip): 
Can't  you  see  me  diggin'  fer  ut? 

CHIEF  ROBBER:    Hurry  up,  and  don't  talk  so  loud. 

SECOND  ROBBER:    Who's  runnin'  this  job? 

CHIEF  ROBBER:    I  am. 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  You  does  the  talkin',  but  we  does 
the  work. 

40 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  41 

FIRST  ROBBER  (The  buzz  of  the  drill  ceasing):  Cut 
off  the  face  gas,  or  I  quits,  an*  gits  out.  The  drill 
makes  'nough  noise. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Turn  on  that  drill. 

FIRST  ROBBER  :  When  you  quits  talkin',  I  goes  tuh 
work,  not  before. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  You  won't — eh?  (Flashing  his 
light  on  the  drill.)  Give  it  to  me.  I'll  drill. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  I'll  give  ut  tuh  you  on  the  head. 
Back  up. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Give  me  that  drill. 

FIRST  ROBBER  :  Lay  down  and  be  still.  ( The  buzz 
of  the  drill  is  heard  again.) 

SECOND  ROBBER:  This  yere  dynamite  and  fuse 
ain't  never  been  attached  yet. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Well,  you  attach  them. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Me?  It  ain't  me  work.  It  was 
your  wife's  job  before  we  left  the  house. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     You  do  it.     Hurry  up. 

SECOND  ROBBER:     I  ain't  doin'  no  woman's  work. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Attach  that  fuse,  I  tell  you! 

SECOND  ROBBER:     No  rough  talk. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  How  are  we  going  to  get  the 
money  inside  there  if  you  don't  attach  that  fuse  to 
the  stick? 

SECOND  ROBBER:     Maybe  we  don't  gits  the  swag. 

FIRST  ROBBER  (The  "buzz  ceasing  again):  If 
youse  two  don't  quits  the  racket,  I  don't  drill,  and  I 
gits  out  of  'ere. 

SECOND  ROBBER:     He  wants  me  tu  do  the  job  his 
wife  oughter  done.     Would  you? 
FIRST  ROBBER:     No.    What  is  ut? 


42  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

SECOND  ROBBER:  He  wants  me  tub  attach  the 
stick  and  the  fuse — would  you,  pal  ? 

FIRST  ROBBER  :  No.  He  kin  send  fer  his  wife. 
(He  resumes  drilling.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  How  are  we  going  to  get  the 
money  if  you  don't  join  the  fuse  and  the  dynamite? 
In  God's  name  tell  me  that! 

SECOND  ROBBER:  I  ain't  answerin'  no  questions. 
I'm  standin'  on  me  rights.  Attachin'  fuses  and  sticks 
ain't  me  work. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Hand  them  to  me.  (Flash-light 
shows  that  he  does  so.)  Flash  on  me.  I'll  attach 
them.  (He  struggles  with  the  material.)  How  do 
you  do  it?  I  don't  understand  it. 

SECOND  ROBBER:    All  you  kin  do  is  talk. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Show  me  how  to  attach  these. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  I  ain't  teachin'  no  apprentices. 
Too  many  people  in  the  business  now.  You  might 
quits  us  and  go  tuh  work  fer  yourself. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  You  fool!  How  are  we  going  to 
get  the  money  if  you  won't  do  it  or  show  me? 

SECOND  ROBBER:  You  promised  us  the  swag  be 
fore  daylight.  We  expects  you  tuh  keep  your  promise. 
There  is  two  of  us  and  oney  one  of  you.  See? 

FIRST  ROBBER  (Buzz  suddenly  ceasing):  The  hole 
is  t'ru.  Gimme  the  stick. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  The  dynamite  and  the  fuse  are 
not  attached  yet  He  won't  do  it. 

FIRST  ROBBER:    You  do  ut. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     I  don't  think  I  understand  how. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  What  are  you  good  fer,  if  you 
don't  understands  the  work? 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  43 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  I  direct  the  work.  I  don't  have 
to  understand  it.  That's  what  I've  got  you  fellows 
for.  My  investment,  my  capital,  is  my  brains.  I  got 
everything  ready — didn't  I  ?  I  knew  where  the  money 
was.  I  arranged  the  hours.  I  put  you  right  here, 
next  to  it. 

SECOND  ROBBER:     Should  I  do  ut,  pal? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  No.  Stands  on  yer  rights.  What 
will  become  of  us  if  we  doesn't  stands  on  our  rights? 

SECOND  ROBBER:  You  ought  to  brought  a  fuse- 
attacher  along  with  us,  if  your  wife  didn't  wants  tuh 
do  ut. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  We'll  waits  till  you  can  send  fer 
a  fuse-attacher. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Me  and  me  pal  strikes  till  de 
fuse-attacher  comes. 

(Footsteps  are  heard.  They  come  nearer;  then  die 
away.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     He's  gone. 

FIRST  ROBBER:     Who  was  ut? 

CHIEF  R.OBBER:  Night  Watchman,  I  think.  We've 
got  to  be  quiet.  If  he  hears  us  it's  all  over. 

FIRST  ROBBER:     He  might  shoot. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  We  might  have  tuh  divide  the 
swag  wid  'im. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  We  haven't  got  the  money  yet. 
Don't  forget  that.  Hurry  up — (A  dccp-tongued  bell 
begins  to  strike.) 

FIRST  ROBBER:     What's  that?     (A  crash.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     What's  the  matter  with  you? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  I  dropped  me  drill.  We're 
cetched.  Chief,  what '11  we  do? 


44  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Be  quiet.  (The  striking  of  the 
bell  ceases.  He  throws  his  light  over  the  room.) 
There,  it's  a  clock,  standing  in  the  corner.  It's  four 
o'clock.  For  the  last  time,  will  you  attach  the  fuse? 

SECOND  ROBBER:  I  will  if  I  gits  fifty  per  cent,  of 
the  swag. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  And  him  and  me  together  get 
only  fifty  per  cent.? 

SECOND  ROBBER:     Yes. 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (To  First  Robber):  What  portion 
do  you  want? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  I  wants  fifty  per  cent,  too,  same 
as  me  pal. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  You  two  fellows  are  crooks. 
You're  thieves. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  If  you  was  one  you  could  do 
somethin'  besides  talk. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Where  do  I  come  in? 

SECOND  ROBBER:  After  I  gits  me  fifty  per  cent, 
and  me  pal  gits  his  fifty  per  cent.,  what's  over  is 
your'n. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  There  can't  be  anything  over  if 
each  of  you  gets  fifty  per  cent. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Maybe  you'll  git  more'n  us.  You 
don't  know  how  much  swag  is  in  that  safe.  We 
stands  firm  on  fifty-fifty. 

(Footsteps  are  heard  again.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Duck!    Lights  out! 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  I  puts  out  me  light  But  I  don't 
ducks  fer  nobody. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:    Be  quiet. 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  45 

(The  steps  come  nearer,  a  Hash-light-  plays  over  the 
room,  and  falls  on  the  three  robbers.) 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (Covering  them  with  a  re 
volver):  Hands  up,  or  I'll  shoot!  (They  raise 
their  hands.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Don't  shoot.  We're  not  enemies 
of  yours.  We  are  enemies  of  the  owner  of  the  money 
in  the  safe.  You  don't  own  the  money — do  you? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  No,  I  don't;  but  I'm  protect 
ing  it.  The  first  man  that  drops  a  hand  gets  a  bullet. 
Come  on. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     You're  protecting  it? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:     Yes. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     For  how  much  a  week? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  That's  none  of  your  busi 
ness.  Come  on. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:    You're  ashamed  to  tell. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :     Well,  it  ain't  very  much. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  That's  what  I  thought.  Say, 
Watchman,  is  your  car  a  Packard  or  a  Winston?  Do 
you  take  your  dinner  at  the  Club  at  two-fifty  per 
meal? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  I  ain't  got  anything  to  do 
with  that  talk. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Watchman,  what  is  your  golf 
score  now?  And  how  beautiful  and  well  dressed  and 
idle  your  wife  and  daughters  are !  And  your  son 
blows  in  a  hundred  dollars  some  nights  and  never 
thinks  of  it. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:     Keep  your  hands  up. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     And  when  are  you  going  to  take 


46  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

your  family  abroad  again?  That's  the  life  that  the 
president  of  this  bank  lives.  Watchman,  you  and  us 
ain't  enemies.  We're  brothers.  But  your  boss  is  the 
enemy  of  all  of  us.  He  gets  hold  of  money  and  he 
locks  it  up  in  that  safe  to  keep  you  and  me  from 
using  it. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  I've  thought  of  that  my 
self. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Put  down  your  gun,  brother. 
Join  us.  Some  of  the  good  things  in  this  world  are 
meant  for  you,  the  same  as  for  your  boss. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  Are  you  fellows  on  the 
square  ? 

CHIEF  ROBBER  :     Try  us. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  If  you're  not,  God  help  you! 
I'll  shoot  the  first  one  of  you  that  goes  crooked. 
Hand  over  your  guns  first — butts  forward.  (The 
Chief  Robber  and  the  First  Robber  do  so.) 

SECOND  ROBBER:     I  won't  hand  mine  over. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:    You  fool!     Hand  it  over. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (Covering  him):  Hand  it 
over—butt  first.  (To  Chief  Robber) :  Shall  I  shoot, 
if  he  don't? 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Yes,  shoot. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Hand  ut  over,  pal,  you  fool! 
(The  Second  Robber  hands  over  his  revolver.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Now,  let's  hurry.  Boys,  on  what 
condition  do  we  take  the  Watchman  in? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  We'll  give  him  fifty  per  cent,  too 
— if  that's  satisfactory  tuh  me  pal. 

SECOND  ROBBER:     It  is. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (Laying  all  the  revolvers  within 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  47 

easy  reach  behind  him):  But  how  are  you  going  to 
do  it?  I've  got  to  pretend  to  protect  the  bank. 

CHIEF  ROBBER  :  That's  easy.  After  we've  got  the 
money  and  given  you  your  part,  I'll  lay  you  out  a 
little — not  much — so  that  when  the  cashier  and  the 
others  look  you  over  in  the  morning,  you've  got  some 
blood  to  show  that  you  made  a  stand. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  And  when  I'm  laid  out, 
you'll  take  the  money  out  of  my  pockets — is  that  the 
idea? 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Oh,  we  wouldn't  do  a  thing  like 
that!  That  wouldn't  be  right. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  I  couldn't  have  the  money 
on  me  anyway.  They  would  notice  it. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  We  could  takes  ut  tuh  your 
woman. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:     I  ain't  got  no  wife. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  You  ain't  got  no  woman — as 
cheap  as  women  is ! 

FIRST  ROBBER  :  We  could  takes  ut  tuh  your  mother 
then. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  What  explanation  would  you 
give  her? 

CHIEF  ROBBER  :  Great  God,  boys,  let's  get  to  work ! 
It'll  soon  be  light. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:     Have  you  got  her  open? 

FIRST  ROBBER:     The  hole's  done  drilled. 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (To  Second  Robber,  appeallngly): 
Please  fasten  the  fuse. 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  Why  didn't  you  say  ut  that  way 
the  first  time?  (He  works  rapidly  zvith  the  dynamite 
stick  and  the  ftise.) 


48  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  We'll  have  to  hurry,  boys.  I 
think  it's  getting  light. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :     Yes,  it's  getting  light. 

CHIEF  ROBBER  :  Watchman,  go  to  the  window  and 
see  if  any  one  is  passing. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Give  me  the  stick.  (In  the  light 
of  the  flash,  he  Inserts  the  slender  stick  into  the  hole.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Come  on.  (All  crawl  away,  -with 
flashes  on  the  floor.)  Any  one  passing? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (At  zvindozv) :    No. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Let  her  go. 

(A  match  strikes.  A  small  name  crawls  over  the 
floor.  A  terrific  explosion.  And  then  the  still  night 
again.) 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  Good  God!  That  noise — it 
was  loud  enough  to  raise  the  dead !  I'll  have  to  arrest 
you  men  to  save  myself. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  You  couldn't  hear  it  half  a  block 
away.  You're  not  used  to  it.  Remember  the  money ! 
See  anybody  outside? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :     No.     But  hurry  up. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  It's  all  right,  Watchman.  Don't 
worry.  All  here?  Anybody  hurt? 

FIRST  ROBBER:     I'm  'ere. 

SECOND  ROBBER:     Me  too. 

(They  hasten  to  the  safe  and  flash  their  lights  upon 
it.  The  outer  door  lies  on  the  floor.) 

FIRST  ROBBER:     It's  got  another  door  inside! 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (Still  at  window):  Hurry! 
It's  getting  light. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Get  busy  with  that  drill  on  the 
inner  door. 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  49 

FIRST  ROBBER:     I  ain't  doin'  all  the  drillin'! 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  Hurry,  boys.  If  the  police 
come,  I'll  have  to  arrest  you  to  save  myself. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Gimme  that  drill.  (He  begins 
to  drill  on  the  inner  door.  There  is  the  rattle  of 
an  automobile.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Lights  out!  Duck!  (The  auto 
mobile  passes  on.)  Who  was  it? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  (Coming  to  the  others):  I 
don't  know.  I  couldn't  tell.  Hurry  up. 

CHIEF   ROBBER:     Look!     The    front   door. 

(A  'flash-light  appears  in  front,  and  some  one  out 
side  tries  the  door.) 

SECOND  ROBBER:  We're  cetched.  You're  tuh 
blame,  Chief.  The  gang'll  git  you  fer  this. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  That's  the  Merchant  Police 
man.  He's  only  paid  to  see  if  the  front  door  is  locked. 
As  long  as  you  didn't  come  in  by  that  door  he  don't 
care.  He's  gone  anyway.  I  tell  you  fellows  it's 
getting  light. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     Hurry  up. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  (The  buzz  of  the  drill  is  heard 
again.)  She'll  be  t'ru  in  a  minute.  Got  the  stick 
ready  ? 

FIRST  ROBBER  :     Yes. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  Stop  the  drill.  You  can 
pry  that  inner  door  open.  I'm  sure  you  can. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Get  away.  (The  buzz  ceases. 
He  pries  at  the  door.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (Throzving  his  light  on  the  door): 
She's  giving. 

FIRST  ROBBER:     Take  a  hand  on  the  jimmy,  pal. 


50  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(Both  pull  on  the  bar.  The  door  yields — files  open. 
All  four  turn  their  lights  into  the  safe.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:     My  God,  men,  look! 

FIRST  ROBBER  :     Piled  up  like  bags  of  salt. 

SECOND  ROBBER:  I'll  hand  tit  out.  (He  crawls 
inside  and  counting,  hands  out  bag  after  bag,  which 
the  Chief  Robber,  also  counting,  stacks  up  before  the 
opening.) 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  There's  money  enough  to 
make  us  all  comfortable  for  life. 

FIRST  ROBBER:  Hurry  up,  pal,  me  hands  is 
tremblin'. 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  That's  all.  (He  crazvls  out,  and 
squats  immediately  in  front  of  the  revolvers  lying  on 
the  floor.) 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  I'll  divide  them  into  four  parts. 
The  Night  Watchman  here,  who  represents  the  law, 
and  me,  your  boss,  your  employer,  will  take  half ;  and 
you  two  workers,  take  the  other  half. 

SECOND  ROBBER  (Menacingly):  Take  your  hands 
off  the  swag!  What  has  you  done? 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  I've  managed  this  thing — haven't 
I? 

FIRST  ROBBER:  You  talked,  that's  all.  I  agrees 
wid  me  pal.  You  ain't  done  nothing. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Didn't  I  persuade  the  Watchman 
here  to  join  us?  Didn't  I  show  him  the  light,  same 
as  the  big  fellows  do  the  police,  and  the  courts  ?  You 
two  ought  to  be  able  to  understand  that. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  You  surely  made  the  thing 
clear  to  me.  (Impatiently):  You  fellows  will  have 
to  hurry  up.  This  ain't  no  time  to  quarrel. 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  51 

SECOND  ROBBER:  Fer  fixin'  the  Watchman  we 
gives  Talker  a  bag.  (He  tosses  him  a  bag.)  We 
gives  a  bag  to  the  Watchman  fer  nothin'.  (He  tosses 
him  a  bag.)  Me  and  me  pal  takes  the  rest. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Nothing  like  that!  (Counting.) 
Why,  there  are  ten  bags  left. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  Each  of  you  fellows  prom 
ised  me  half — didn't  you? 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  That  ain't  got  nothin'  tuh  do  wid 
ut.  You  gits  a  bag.  Talker  gits  a  bag.  And  me 
and  me  pal  gits  oney  what's  left. 

CHIEF  ROBBER:  Nothing  like  that  at  all!  I'll  take 
the  bags.  (He  reaches  for  them.) 

SECOND  ROBBER  (Covering  him  with  revolver): 
Git  back! 

CHIEF  ROBBER  (Retreating):  Put  that  gun  down. 
(The  Second  Robber  does  so.) 

FIRST  ROBBER  :  Watchman,  what  does  you  say 
about  ut? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  I  ain't  got  anything  to  do 
with  the  quarrel  between  them  two.  All  I  say  is 
hurry  up  and  give  me  my  share. 

SECOND  ROBBER  :  We  divides  oney  the  way  I 
said. 

FIRST  ROBBER  :     I  agrees  wid  me  pal — fifty-fifty. 

(Outside  there  is  the  sudden  sputter  of  an  auto 
mobile.  It  grows  swiftly  louder,  then  ceases  suddenly 
in  front  of  the  bank.  Instantly  flash-lights  appear  at 
the  windows  and  doors.  At  the  safe  all  lights  go  out. 
There  is  scuffling.  A  loud  cry  is  heard,  and  the  noise 
of  a  body  falling.  Windows  and  doors  are  broken 
open  by  the  persons  outside,  and  several  with  flash- 


52  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

lights  rush  in.  They  turn  on  the  electric  lights.  They 
are  policemen.) 

POLICEMAN  (At  safe):     Here  is  one  laid  out. 

ANOTHER   POLICEMAN  :     They've  got  away. 

ANOTHER  POLICEMAN  (Coming  from  rear): 
They're  gone. 

(Other  Policemen,  weapons  in  hand,  hasten  about 
and  in  and  out.) 

POLICEMAN  (At  safe):     This  fellow  looks  finished. 

(A  man  in  civilian  clothes  rushes  in.) 

THE  MAN  :  My  God,  the  money !  I'm  the  cashier 
here. 

POLICEMAN  (At  safe) :  I  don't  think  they  got  away 
with  it.  Here  it  is. 

THE  MAN  :  I  put  twelve  bags  in  the  safe  this 
afternoon.  (He  counts  them.)  Not  a  bag  gone. 
Oh,  I'm  glad  of  that!  I  heard  the  crash. 

POLICEMAN:  Are  you  the  one  that  notified  head 
quarters  ? 

THE  MAN:     Yes. 

POLICEMAN:  You  didn't  tell  the  Desk  Sergeant  it 
was  the  bank. 

THE  MAN  :  I  did  but  he  couldn't  seem  to  under 
stand  me.  I  was  excited,  I  guess. 

POLICEMAN  :     This  one  got  laid  out. 

THE  MAN:  That's  not  a  burglar.  That's  the 
Night  Watchman.  Poor  fellow!  I'm  sure  he  did 
his  duty. 

(The  Night  Watchman  lifts  himself  a  little,  but 
sinks  back  again.  The  Man  rolls  him  over,  face 
against  the  wall  and  puts  some  books  under  his  head 


THE  BANK  ROBBERY  53 

to  make  him  more  comfortable,  meanwhile  whisper 
ing  tender  words.) 

THE  MAN:  Officer,  we  can't  leave  this  money 
here.  The  safe  is  done  up.  Hadn't  we  better  take  it 
to  headquarters? 

POLICEMAN  :    Yes. 

THE  MAN:  Will  you  have  the  men  carry  it  out 
to  the  car? 

POLICEMAN  (Beckoning  two  other  policemen,  who 
come  to  him):  Carry  these  out  to  the  car.  (They 
begin  to  do  so.) 

THE  MAN  :  Officer,  I  can't  tell  you  how  glad  I 
am  you've  saved  the  money. 

POLICEMAN  :     Sure. 

THE  MAN  :  Why — some  of  that  money  belongs  to 
wash' women. 

POLICEMAN  :     Think  the  Watchman  is  hurt  much  ? 

THE  MAN  :  Can't  tell.  He  was  struck  on  the  head. 
He  may  be  out  of  his  head  for  a  while  when  he  comes 
to — say  crazy  things.  They  usually  do — don't  they? 

POLICEMAN  :  You  want  any  of  these  books  and 
papers  in  the  safe  taken  along? 

THE  MAN:  No.  That  stuff  is  all  right  here. 
(The  policemen  are  carrying  out  the  last  bags.)  Is 
the  driver  out  there  in  the  car? 

POLICEMAN  :    Yes. 

(The  Man  goes  out.  The  engine  of  the  car  begins 
to  splitter.  The  sound  grows  a  little  fainter,  then 
ceases  suddenly.) 

POLICEMAN:    The  car  has  stopped. 

(A  sharp  report  is  heard,  and  immediately  the  noise 


54  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

of  the  engine  begins  again,  and  diminishes  rapidly  in 
the  distance.) 

POLICEMAN  :     Blow  out  ? 

ANOTHER  POLICEMAN  :     No.    The  car  had  stopped. 

POLICEMAN:     Back-fire  maybe. 

ANOTHER  POLICEMAN  :  Not  that  sound.  Some 
thing's  wrong. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN   (Turning):     Is  he  gone? 

POLICEMAN  :    Yes. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  You  remember  he  rolled  me 
over  ? — • 

POLICEMAN  :     Yes. 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  And  put  some  things  under 
my  head? — • 

POLICEMAN  :    Yes,  yes ! 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN:  He  whispered  he  would  kill 
me  if  I  moved. 

POLICEMAN:     The  cashier? 

NIGHT  WATCHMAN  :  That  ain't  the  cashier.  That's 
the  Chief  Robber. 

(Consternation.) 

CURTAIN 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON 
A  FAERIE  IN  ONE  SCENE 

By 
WILLIAM  O.  BATES 


WILLIAM  O.  BATES 

William  Oscar  Bates  is  a  resident  of  Indianapolis, 
Indiana.  After  receiving  his  Ph.  B.  from  Cornell 
University  he  was  engaged  for  over  twenty  years  in 
newspaper  work  in  Indianapolis,  St.  Paul  and  New 
York. 

In  later  years  Mr.  Bates  has  divided  his  time  among 
his  real  estate  interests,  trade  journalism,  and  play- 
writing.  He  is  the  author  of  Recitations  and  How 
to  Recite;  Our  Foreign  Correspondent,  a  four-act 
comedy  produced  in  St.  Paul;  The  Black  Bokhara,  a 
one-act  comedy;  and  Polly  of  Pogue's  Run,  Asaph, 
and  Tea,  all  produced  in  Indianapolis. 

Mr.  Bates  was  instrumental  in  establishing  the  Little 
Theatre  Society  of  Indiana,  and  was  its  first  secre 
tary.  He  is  an  enthusiastic  worker  in  the  Little 
Theatre  of  Indianapolis,  where  several  of  his  plays 
have  been  produced. 

The  Indianapolis  Centennial  Pageant  produced  in 
1920  is  one  of  the  finest  of  Mr.  Bates'  works,  and  has 
given  him  wide  and  very  favorable  recognition  in  his 
own  city.  The  production  of  this  pageant  was  one 
of  the  most  notable  artistic  achievements  in  the  city 
of  Indianapolis. 

THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON 

Not  every  playwright  can  portray  a  dryad ;  Mr. 
Bates  has  done  it  here  with  exquisite  delicacy  and 
lightness  of  touch. 

56 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON    57 

"The  world  is  too  much  with  us;  late  and  soon, 
Getting  and  spending,  we  lay  waste  our  powers." 

When  do  we  take  time  to  think  and  wonder?  Are 
there  no  fairy  creatures  in  bird  and  bush  and  tree? 
We  cold,  prosaic  mortals  have  eyes  that  see  not  and 
ears  that  hear  not.  But  Deacon  Shadrach  learned, 
and  so  may  we. 

"Come   and  trip  it  as  you  go 
On  the  light  fantastic  toe." 


(Copyrighted.  Applications  to  produce  The  Dryad  and  the 
Deacon  should  be  addressed  to  William  O.  Bates,  756  Middle 
Drive,  Woodruff  Place,  Indianapolis,  Indiana.) 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON 

A  huge  and  venerable  oak  tree  stands  in  the  center 
of  a  wooded  glade  of  New  England.  In  front  of  the 
tree  a  little  to  the  right  is  a  large  boulder.  It  is  sum 
mer,  about  1640. 

(DEACON  SITADRACH  SNOW  comes  in  from  the  left. 
He  is  a  young  man  of  austere  countenance  and  ivears 
the  conventional  Puritan  dress,  steeple-crown  hat, 
cropped  hair,  and  the  like.  Under  one  arm  he  carries 
a  copy  of  the  Bay  Psalm  Book,  and  on  his  shoulder  is 
a  large  ax.  He  advances  to  the  tree,  inspects  its  size, 
walking  backward  and  around  it,  as  though  calculat 
ing  its  timber  possibilities.  Then,  apparently  satisfied 
he  lays  the  ax  down  at  its  roots,  goes  to  the  boulder 
and,  depositing  his  book  thereon,  proceeds  to  take  off 
his  coat  and  roll  up  his  shirt-sleeves.  He  then,  taking 
up  the  ax,  seems  about  to  begin  chopping  on  the  tree. 
But,  as  if  remembering  a  forgotten  task,  he  returns 
to  the  boulder,  seats  himself  upon  it,  opens  the  psalm 
book  and  finding  the  page,  ''lines  off"  in  a  high,  nasal 
voice  the  following  psalm — marking  the  time  with  his 
hand,  as  though  in  rehearsal  for  his  Sunday  service:) 

"The  rivers  on  of  Babilon 

there  when  we  did  sit  down; 
Yet  even  then  wee  mourned,  when 

wee  remembered  Sion. 
Our  harps  we  did  hang  it  amid, 
upon  the  willow  tree, 
58 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON    59 

Because  there  they  that  us  away 

led  in  captivitee, 
Required  of  us  a  song,  thus 

askt  mirth :  us  waste  who  laid, 
Sing  us  among  a  Sion's  song, 

unto  us  then  they  said." 

(As  he  concludes,  a  strain  of  soft,  elfin  music  is 
heard.  He  looks  around  in  surprise,  then  dismissing 
the  matter,  turns  the  pages  of  his  book  and  again  be 
gins  to  intone:) 

"Lift  up  thy   foot  on  hye, 
Unto  the  desolations 
of  perpetuity : — " 

(He  is  again  interrupted,  this  time  by  a  tinkling  as 
of  many  small  bells,  followed  by  a  peal  of  girlish 
laughter.  He  starts  to  his  feet  in  wonder  as  a  door 
in  front  of  the  oak  tree  gently  opens  and  the  smiling 
face  of  The  Dryad  peeps  forth.  She  is  dressed  in 
robes  of  thin,  clinging  green  and  amber  and  wears  upon 
her  head  a  chaplet  of  flozvers.  There  are  tiny  bells 
upon  her  arms  and  feet.  She  nods  him  a  greeting.) 

DEACON  :  Wherefore,  maiden,  this  strange  hiding- 
place  ? 

(She  puts  her  finger  to  her  lips  in  token  that  she 
must  not  tell,  steps  down  from  the  tree,  closing  the 
bark  door  behind  her,  dances  a  few  steps  toward  him 
and  makes  him  a  mocking  courtesy.) 

DEACON  (Turning  away  in  shocked  reproof) :  And, 
forsooth,  wherefore  this  unseemly  attire? 

(She  dances  around  until  in  front  of  him  once  more, 
at  which  he  quickly  turns  again,  when  she  circles  and 


60  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

confronts  him  from  the  other  side.  He  hides  his 
eyes  with  his  hand  and  speaks  with  anger.) 

DEACON  :  Avaunt !  I  know  thee  now  !  Thou  art 
a  witch — sent  by  Mistress  Holbrook  to  cast  a  spell 
upon  me!  But  Deacon  Shadrach  Snow  fears  not  the 
Powers  of  Darkness.  Go  away! 

(She  tickles  his  nose  with  her  chaplet,  making  him 
sneeze,  whereat  she  laughs  gleefully.) 

DEACON  (Catching  up  his  book  and  opening  the 
pages  toward  her) :  I  know  to  drive  thee  hence.  This 
book  of  holy  psalms,  newly  imprinted,  shall  exorcise 
thee,  witch ! 

(She  catches  the  book  away  from  him  and  dances 
gaily  off  around  the  tree,  turning  the  pages  as  she 
goes.  He  hurries  in  pursuit.  She  eludes  him  and  fin 
ally  tosses  him  the  book  which  he  presses  to  his 
bosom.) 

DEACON  :  Truly  thou  art  a  malignant  of  deep  guile 
and  subtlety.  I  will  e'en  try  what  a  psalm-reading  may 
do  to  curb  thy  vain  demeanor.  (He  hurriedly  finds 
the  right  page  and  begins  to  intone  as  before.) 

"Lift  up  thy  foot  on  hye, 
Unto  the  desolations 
of  perpetuity: — " 

(Upon  this  injunction,  she  does  lift  her  foot  on 
high — whereat  he  breaks  off  to  rebuke  her.) 

DEACON  :  Oh,  shameless  mocker  of  the  sacred  text ! 
I  will  shut  thee  from  my  sight.  (He  holds  the  book 
before  him  to  carry  out  this  plan,  and  begins  again:) 

"Lift  up  thy  foot  on  hye, — " 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON    61 

(This  time  she  lifts  her  foot  high  enough  to  kick 
the  book  out  of  his  hand.) 

DEACON  :  Truly,  the  Psalmist  must  have  had  thee 
in  mind  in  writing  this  holy  song.  Thou  shall  hear 
what  he  says  of  thee!  (He  retakes  the  book,  and 
seating  himself  upon  the  boulder  with  his  back  toward 
her,  intones  with  angry  zeal  the  following:) 

"Lift  up  thy  foot  on  hye, 
Unto  the  desolations 

of  perpetuity: 
Thy  foe  within  the  Sanctuary, 

hath  done  all  lewd  designs. 
Amid  the  Church  thy  foes  doe  roare: 

their  Banners  set  for  signes." 

(She  again  starts  to  lift  up  her  foot,  but  seeing  it 
will  not  be  noticed,  she  tiptoes  up  to  him  and  peers 
over  his  shoulder  at  the  book.  At  the  concluding  line 
she  claps  her  chaplet  upon  his  head  and  dances  around 
to  confront  him,  again  lifting  her  pertinacious  foot. 
He  snatches  the  wreath  from  his  head  and  throws  it 
upon  the  ground.) 

DEACON:  The  psalm  fits  thee  truly,  witch.  Thy 
foot  is  ever  lifted  high,  thy  lewd  designs  are  shown, 
thy  tinkling  bells  do  roar  and  (pointing  to  wreath) 
thou  fain  wouldst  set  thy  banner  sign  upon  me.  It 
shall  not  be!  Think  not  because  my  name  is  Snow 
that  I  am  to  be  melted  by  thy  allurements — I  am  also 
called  Shadrach!  I  will  look  no  more  upon  thee! 
(He  seats  himself  anew,  bows  his  head  over  the  book 
and  with  time-beating  hand  seems  to  bury  himself  in 
silent  rehearsal  of  his  task.) 


62  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(The  Dryad  retrieves  her  wreath,  pantomimes  her 
scorn  of  his  stoicism,  and  dances  gaily  off  to  lilting 
music,  as  though  dismissing  him  from  her  mind.  In 
doing  so  she  comes  upon  the  ax  at  the  foot  of  the 
tree.  She  examines  it,  at  first  with  careless  curiosity, 
then  with  growing  concern,  as  she  looks  up  at  her  tree 
and  at  The  Deacon.  Finally  the  full  significance  of 
its  meaning  comes  upon  her  and — with  a  crash  of  the 
music — she  falls  at  the  tree  base,  clasping  its  roots 
with  outspread  arms.  The  music  changes  to  express 
her  grief  and  alarm.  Slowly  she  rises  and,  with  deep 
dejection,  drags  herself  to  The  Deacon's  feet  where 
she  kneels  and  touches  him  timidly  to  attract  his  atten 
tion.  The  music  here  becomes  low  and  plaintive.) 

DEACON  (Shaking  his  head  with  determination): 
No,  I  will  heed  thee  not.  Begone — I  have  work  to  do ! 

(She  again  touches  him  supplicatingly;  when  he 
looks  up  she  places  her  wreath  before  him  and,  with 
clasped  and  extended  hands,  abases  her  head  to  his 
feet.) 

DEACON:  Oh,  thou  persistent  fiend,  what  wouldst 
thou?  Is  this  lowly  mien  but  some  new  trap  for  my 
soul? 

(Lifting  herself  she  points  to  the  ax  with  agonised 
inquiry.) 

DEACON  :  Yea,  that  is  my  ax — but  I  thought  not 
to  strike  thee  with  it.  Thy  punishment  be  upon  other 
hands  than  mine.  (The  music  stops.) 

(She  shakes  her  head  in  token  that  he  has  mistaken 
her  meaning,  and  rising  seems  to  supplicate  him  to  go 
with  her.  In  wondering  reluctance,  he  slowly  rises 
and  follozvs  her  to  the  tree.  Here  she  points  first  at 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON    63 

the  ax  and  then  at  the  tree  with  anxious  inquiry.  At 
last  he  understands.) 

DEACON  :  Yea,  verily,  I  do  purpose  to  hew  down 
this  oak  tree  for  the  joiners,  and  thy  shameful  antics 
but  hinder  me  from  this  work. 

(She  clasps  her  arms  about  the  tree;  then  falls  upon 
her  knees  and  lifts  up  her  joined  hands  to  him  in 
supplication.) 

DEACON  :  Aha,  now,  indeed,  I  do  know  thee ! 
Thou  art  no  common  witch — but  one  of  that  old 
heathen  crew  they  called  Dryads.  And  this  tree  is 
thy  dwelling-place?  (She  nods  assent.)  I  thought 
all  such  were  long  since  gone  away.  Hast  thou  not 
shame  to  harbor  in  a  Christian  land  who  art  of  Greece 
three  thousand  years  agone?  (She  hangs  her  head 
as  he  looks  up  at  the  venerable  tree.)  And  yet  thou 
must  have  been  here  long  before  we  came?  (She 
nods  eager  assent.)  Perhaps  even  before  the  red 
Indian?  (She  nods  "yes.")  Thou  seemest  very 
young  to  be  so  old!  (She  points  up  at  the  tree,  then 
to  herself.)  Yea,  maiden,  I  do  understand — thy  oak 
reneweth  his  greenery  every  spring  and  thy  own  youth 
therewith  ?  (She  rewards  him  with  a  dazzling  smile.) 
And  when  the  ax  is  laid  at  the  root  of  thy  tree,  thou 
diest  also — so,  methinks,  runs  the  pagan  legend? 
(Crossing  her  hands  upon  her  breast,  she  slowly  sinks 
to  her  knees  before  him  and  bows  her  head  in  assent.) 
Nay,  have  no  fear — I  find  it  not  in  my  heart  to  harm 
thy  tree  or  thee !  (She  kisses  his  hand  in  gratitude.) 
Moreover,  maiden,  I  would  fain  save  thee  from  the 
fate  that  sometime  must  befall  thy  earth-born  tree. 
Come  away  from  they  heathen  life  and  practices  to 


64  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

yonder  Christian  settlement  where  thou  may'st  learn 
the  ways  that  lead  to  life  perpetual,  a  life  beyond 
the  perils  and  poor  satisfactions  of  this  vain  world, 
eternal  in  the  Heavens !  There  thou  may'st  be  put  to 
school,  and  be  given  seemly  and  modest  raiment,  have 
the  admonition  and  example  of  pious  women,  the 
ministrations  of  the  Church,  and — who  knows? — in 
time  thou  might'st  even  be  thought  worthy  to  become 
the  wedded  wife  of  some  grave  and  godly  man! 

(The  Dryad  listens  to  this  exhortation,  at  first  with 
puzzled  wonder,  then  with  demure  deference,  finally 
with  elfin  glee.  She  bursts  into  a  peal  of  mocking 
laughter,  springs  to  her  feet  and,  to  madly  vivid 
music,  goes  careening  about  in  wildly  exuberant  re 
jection  of  The  Deacon's  program,  catching  up  his  hat 
and  setting  it  aslant  upon  her  own  head  as  she  whirls 

(He  watches  her  a  few  moments  in  sorrowful  as 
tonishment,  then  goes  slowly  back  to  the  boulder 
where  he  proceeds  to  put  on  his  coat  and  retake  his 
book.  Noting  his  preparation  to  depart,  she  takes  his 
hat  in  her  extended  hands  and,  pirouetting  across, 
offers  it  to  him  with  mischievous  meekness.  The 
music  stops.) 

DEACON  :  Alas,  thou  poor,  vain  butterfly,  it  doth 
grieve  me  sorely  to  see  thee  so  light-minded  when 
thou  might'st  hope  for  a  sanctified  soul  in  that  fair 
body  of  thine!  (She  crosses  her  hands  upon  her 
breast  and  bows  demurely.)  Shall  I  ever  see  thee 
more?  (She  thinks  a  moment,  then  slowly  shakes 
her  head.)  I  fear  me  that  is  well,  for  the  banns  have 
been  asked  that  I  should  wed  a  devout  young  woman, 
and  though  her  name  be  Patience,  she  might  misin- 


THE  DRYAD  AND  THE  DEACON    65 

terpret  my  zeal  for  thy  conversion — and  she  lacketh 
thy  slowness  of  speech.  (She  gives  him  a  look  of 
arch  inquiry.)  But  it  can  not  harm  her — or  thee — 
that  thou  shouldst  receive  my  blessing  before  we  part. 
Kneel,  maiden !  (She  docs  so  and  he  places  his  hands 
upon  her  head  in  solemn  invocation.)  May  the  Lord 
bless  thee,  and  keep  thee,  and  make  His  face  to  shine 
upon  thee,  and  give  thee  peace !  Amen !  Now  go 
thy  ways  and  I  will  go  mine! 

(The  Dryad  rises  slowly  and  recoils  from  him  a 
few  steps,  with  a  look  of  wide-eyed  wonder,  as 
though  dimly  comprehending  the  meaning  of  his 
words.  Then,  suddenly  coming  to  herself,  with  whirl 
ing  arms  and  fast-Hying  feet,  she  breaks  into  a  bac 
chanalian  dance,  wheeling  in  frenzied  circles  to  wildly 
joyous  music  until  she  finds  herself  in  front  of  her 
tree.  The  music  breaks  off  abruptly;  the  door  opens 
behind  her;  she  steps  backward  into  the  tree,  and, 
with  a  last,  lingering  smile  upon  The  Deacon,  the  door 
shuts  her  from  his  sight. 

(He  picks  up  his  hat  and  book  and  goes,  very 
slowly,  to  the  tree.  Here  he  stands  a  moment,  his 
back  to  the  audience,  then  falls  prone  upon  the  ground, 
clasping  the  tree  roots  in  his  arms,  his  shoulders  heav 
ing  with  convulsive  sobs.  A  faint  and  far-away 
tinkling  of  tiny  bells  is  heard  as  the  curtain  gently 
closes  down.) 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER 
A  PROPHETIC  FANTASY  IN  ONE  ACT 

By 
WILLIAM  O.  BATES 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER 

In  the  Light  of  the  Manger  illustrates  what  the 
one-act  play  can  do  in  the  way  of  creating  that  illu 
sive,  artful  something  called  emotional  atmosphere. 
The  author  relies  upon  the  dialogue  alone  for  effect. 
This  often  consists  of  only  brief  questions,  answers 
and  exclamations,  but  foreboding,  fear,  wonder  and 
mystery  are  subtly  suggested  by  this  elliptical  form. 


(Copyrighted.  Application  to  produce  In  the  Light  of  the 
Manger  should  be  addressed  to  William  O.  Bates,  756  Middle 
Drive,  Woodruff  Place,  Indianapolis,  Indiana.) 


68 


PROPERTY  OF 
DEPARTMENT  OF  DGAMATIC  AST 

IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER 

THOSE  REPRESENTED: 

A  MOTHER  A  DAUGHTER 

A  SON  A  BABE 

A  ROMAN  SOLDIER 

The  interior  of  a  humble  Bethlehem  home  in  the 
days  of  Herod  the  King  discloses  at  the  right  a  com 
partment  for  cattle,  the  demi-arch  over  it  surmounted 
by  steps  leading  to  an  upper  room  concealed  behind 
dark  curtains,  its  floor,  showing  a  narrow  platform  in 
front  of  the  curtains,  being  some  five  feet  above  the 
level  of  the  apartment.  The  outer  entrance,  made  of 
rude  boards,  gives  into  the  place  for  cattle,  and  oppo 
site  this  door  is  a  manger  which  now  serves  as  a*  bed 
for  a  sleeping  infant.  There  is  a  primitive  dais  at 
the  left  upon  which  are  bedclothes.  Dried  fruits  are 
suspended  from  rough  rafters,  also  a  hanging  lamp 
lighting  the  night  but  dimly.  All  the  appointments 
and  costumes  are  archaic. 

The  Mother  and  the  Daughter,  a  girl  of  sixteen,  are 
seated  opposite  each  other  on  the  floor  at  the  right, 
grinding  at  a  handmill  and  crooning  a  mournful 
lullaby. 

MOTHER  (Pausing  and  glancing  toward  the  man 
ger) :  How  soundly  he  sleeps!  It  does  not  seem 
quite  natural. 

DAUGHTER:     Nay,  mother,  he  is  always  quiet. 
69 


70  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MOTHER:  Yes,  I  know.  Both  you  and  brother 
were  restless,  hut  he  is  different. 

DAUGHTER  (Rising):  Should  he  not  he  different, 
he  who  was  born  on  the  same  night  with  the  Blessed 
Child? 

MOTHER:  Speak  not  of  that,  beloved!  At  times 
I  almost  wish  it  had  not  been  so — it  seems  too  much 
honor. 

DAUGHTER  :  But  brother  was  with  the  shepherds 
on  that  wonderful  night  and  heard  the  Wise  Men  say 
no  harm  can  come  to  any  who  then  saw  His  face. 

MOTHER:     How  could  the  Wise  Men  know  that? 

DAUGHTER:  How  should  they  have  seen  His  star 
in  the  East  and  how  escaped  the  wiles  of  Herod? 
God  spoke  to  them  in  dreams  and  they  understood. 

MOTHER:  I  hope  it  may  be  so  but  I  am  glad 
brother  sleeps  in  the  upper  room  to-night.  I  am 
strangely  ill  at  ease. 

DAUGHTER:  Confess,  now!  You  are  still  think 
ing  of  that  wild  story,  King  Herod  seeks  to  slay 
the  Blessed  Child? 

MOTHER:  Yea,  daughter.  Herod  is  a  hard  and 
cruel  king.  I  do  fear  him. 

DAUGHTER:  But  only  a  monster  would  order  all 
the  babes  slain  because  of  one.  And  what  should  a 
great  king  dread  from  a  little  child? 

MOTHER:  Herod's  family  came  from  Edom,  of  a 
race  suspicious  and  revengeful,  like  their  forefather 
Esau.  Did  he  not  kill  his  benefactor,  Hyrcanus,  and 
his  own  beautiful  wife,  Mariamne,  and  three  of  his 
own  sons.  (Lowering  her  voice.)  And  now,  when  he 
is  grown  old,  our  neighbor  tells  me  he  has  ordered 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER        71 

that  all  the  nobles  shall  die  when  he  dies  that  there 
may  be  mourning  in  the  land  because  of  him. 

DAUGHTER:  Yet  he  built  the  magnificent  temple 
at  Jerusalem,  and  has  given  the  land  many  other  great 
buildings  and  splendid  new  cities. 

MOTHER:  And  the  land  is  full  of  hatred  and  fear 
of  a  king  who  cringes  to  Rome  and  rules  Judea  with 
a  scepter  dipped  in  blood. 

DAUGHTER:  Yes,  I  know,  and  yet — (She  listens.) 
Did  you  now  hear  him  stir? 

MOTHER:  Go  and  see  whether  he  wakens!  (The 
girl  goes  to  the  manger,  rearranges  the  infant's  cover 
ing  and  kisses  him  lightly.) 

DAUGHTER  (Returning):  He  sleeps  as  sweetly  as 
though  guarded  by  legions  of  angels. 

(The  sound  of  a  trumpet,  faint  and  far  away,  is 
heard.  Mother  and  daughter  look  at  each  other 
startled  and  speak  in  terrified  whispers.) 

MOTHER  (Rising):    What  was  that? 

DAUGHTER:     It  sounded  like  a  trumpet. 

MOTHER:  It  was  a  trumpet — soldiers  abroad  at 
night!  Call  brother!  He  will  go  and  see. 

DAUGHTER:  But,  mother,  he  must  replace  father 
in  the  fields  at  midnight  and  needs  his  rest.  Let  me 
go! 

MOTHER:  Hasten,  then,  but  return  quickly! 
(The  girl  siviftly  covers  herself  with  a  dark  cloak 
and  darts  out,  while  the  mother  goes  to  the  manger 
and  taking  the  sleeping  babe  in  her  arms  hurries  to 
the  foot  of  the  steps  over  the  arch  just  as  the  son,  a 
youth  of  seventeen,  parts  the  curtains  of  the  upper 
room  and  steps  out  in  front  of  them.) 


72  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MOTHER  (Speaking  in  a  whisper):  Did  you  hear 
it — the  trumpet? 

SON:  No,  mother,  I  heard  no  trumpet,  but  a 
trumpet  call  is  no  cause  for  alarm.  It  is  near  the 
hour  when  they  change  guards. 

MOTHER:  But  you  know  they  say  Herod  means 
to  kill  all  Bethlehem  babes  to  make  sure  he  slays  the 
Son  of  Joseph  and  Mary. 

SON:  And  shall  not  the  Son  of  Joseph  and  Mary 
protect  His  own  ?  Mother,  mother,  do  you  fear  Herod 
more  than  you  believe  in  God? 

MOTHER:  Alas,  I  believe  in  God  when  I  can — 
and  fear  Herod  when  I  must. 

SON  (Descending  the  steps  and  caressing  the 
babe):  Shall  He  who  chose  a  human  mother  forget 
how  human  mothers  yearn? 

MOTHER:  You  feel  quite  sure  no  harm  can  come 
to  our  beloved? 

SON  :  Mother,  I  will  not  fear  for  this  precious 
little  brother,  born  on  the  selfsame  night  when  I 
heard  the  angel  say,  "Fear  not!"  and  with  my  own 
eyes  saw  the  New-born  over  whom  the  skies  sang 
"Peace  on  earth." 

DAUGHTER  (Rushing  in,  breathless  and  gasping  in 
terror):  The  soldiers  are  coming — their  dreadful 
work  has  begun! 

MOTHER  (Starting  toward  the  door):  We  must 
flee  to  the  caves. 

DAUGHTER:  Too  late — they  are  already  in  the 
street — I  heard  the  cry  of  our  neighbor's  child! 

MOTHER  (Falling  upon  her  knees):  Oh,  what 
shall  we  do— where  shall  we  go? 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER        73 

SON  :  Go  into  the  upper  room !  I  will  meet 
them. 

MOTHER:  But  you  have  no  weapon.  They  will 
kill  you,  too! 

SON:  "Fear  not!"  (He  lifts  his  mother  to  her 
feet  as  she  hurries  up  the  steps  with  the  babe  and 
disappears  behind  the  curtains  just  as  there  sounds  a 
loud  trumpet  note  and  a  tumult  of  dashing  arms 
without.  The  son  silently  urges  his  sister  to  follow 
her  mother  up  the  stairs,  and  she  tries  to  obey  but  is 
so  overcome  with  terror  that  she  staggers  and  makes 
but  slow  ascent.  There  is  an  imperious  knock  upon 
the  door  which,  a  moment  later,  is  thrown  open  by  a 
burly  Roman  soldier  in  glittering  armor,  a  blood 
stained  sword  suspended  about  his  neck.  He  enters 
in  time  to  see  the  girl  pass  behind  the  curtains.) 

SOLDIER:     Is  there  a  babe  in  this  house? 

SON  :     You  see. 

SOLDIER  (Starting  toward  the  steps):     I  will  see. 

SON  (Quietly  interposing):     Wherefore? 

SOLDIER:  It  is  Herod's  order  all  Bethlehem  babes 
shall  be  slain. 

SON  :     Again,  wherefore  ? 

SOLDIER:  I  know  not — nor  care.  Some  say  cer 
tain  soothsayers  have  told  him  one  has  been  born  here 
who  shall  be  king  of  the  Jews.  He  is  king  of  the 
Jews. 

SON  :  That  was  spoken  of  the  Son  of  Joseph  and 
Mary.  But  they  have  taken  Him  away  to  Egypt. 
Besides  these  Wise  Men,  whom  you  call  soothsayers, 
said  two  thousand  years  must  pass  before  the  Jews 
again  govern  in  Judea. 


74  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

SOLDIER:  It  may  be  so.  I  am  not  here  to  judge 
but  to  execute  judgment. 

SON:  But  when  your  time  comes  to  be  judged, 
think  you  God  will  forgive  you  the  murder  of  the 
innocent  because  you  did  the  will  of  Herod? 

SOLDIER:  He  speaks  for  the  gods — let  him  answer 
to  them! 

SON:     Can  any  god  desire  the  blood  of  babes? 

SOLDIER:  Let  those  who  anger  and  oppose  Herod 
beware  when  the  innocent  suffer.  If  he  is  terrible  to 
those  who  have  done  no  wrong,  how  much  more 
should  they  fear  him  who  have  thwarted  his  will ! 

SON  :  But  when  the  Son  of  Joseph  and  Mary  was 
bom  I  heard  the  angels  sing,  "Peace  on  earth — good 
will  to  men."  What  has  Herod  to  fear  from  one  who 
brings  peace  and  good  will  ? 

SOLDIER:  I  know  naught  of  angels.  My  business 
is  war — not  peace. 

SON  :  The  Wise  Men  said  also  there  would  be  no 
need  of  legions  or  war  chariots  to  uphold  the  new 
kingdom — that  the  great  God  would  be  its  supporter 
and  shield. 

SOLDIER:  The  gods  of  Rome  are  gods  of  war,  and 
fight  ever  on  the  side  of  the  strongest  legions. 

SON  :  Have  you  not  read  in  the  Song,  of  Deborah 
that  "the  stars  in  their  courses  fought  against  Sisera"  ? 

SOLDIER:  What  have  I  to  do  with  your  Deborah 
and  your  Sisera? 

SON:  This,  soldier!  Because  Sisera's  king  was 
like  your  king,  and  every  other  ruler  who  trusts  in 
force  alone.  He  had  nine  hundred  chariots  of  iron 
and  he  mightily  oppressed  the  children  of  Israel,  until 


IN  THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  MANGER        75 

they  shunned  the  highways  and  forsook  their  villages, 
and  in  war  he  divided  the  spoil ;  to  every  man  a  damsel 
or  two,  and  to  Sisera  a  prey  of  divers  colors.  But 
Deborah  spoke  to  Barak:  "Arise,  Barak,  and  lead 
thy  captivity  captive !"  and  Sisera  was  overthrown  and 
died  by  the  treachery  of  a  woman  he  thought  to  have 
made  a  traitor.  Let  all  who  trust  in  blood  and  iron 
and  treachery  remember  Jael  who  smote  her  tent  nail 
into  Sisera's  temples! 

SOLDIER  :  Have  done  with  your  Hebrew  romances  ! 
(Two  short  trumpet  blasts  sound  without.)  You 
hear — they  call  me !  Out  of  my  way — I  must  do  my 
work! 

SON  :  One  moment,  more,  I  beseech  you !  Have 
you  no  child  of  your  own? 

SOLDIER:  I  have  a  son,  but  if  Herod  called  for 
his  head  my  own  would  have  to  answer  for  it. 

SON:  Soldier,  would  you  not  fall  upon  your  own 
sword  rather  than  turn  its  edge  against  your  son? 

SOLDIER:  By  Jupiter,  boy,  you  should  yourself 
feel  my  sword's  edge  for  that  stroke. 

SON  :  Let  it  fall  upon  me,  then,  rather  than  upon 
this  helpless  babe! 

SOLDIER:  Fool,  your  death  would  not  save  its  life.. 
(Three  short  trumpet  blasts  are  heard.)  Stand  aside, 
lest  you  die  in  vain ! 

SON  (Boldly):  Not  yet!  The  Wise  Men,  whose 
report  Herod  heeds,  said  yet  more.  They  said  no 
harm  could  come  to  the  Holy  Child  or  to  any  who 
had  looked  upon  His  face  that  first  night — that  all 
such  would  be  protected  by  the  God  who  declared, 
"My  sword  shall  be  bathed  in  Heaven ;  behold,  it  shall 


76  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

come  down  upon  Edom  and  upon  the  people  of  my 
curse  to  judgment."  Herod  is  of  Edom — let  him  and 
you  who  serve  him  dread  the  sword  of  the  King  of 
Kings ! 

SOLDIER:  (Wresting  his  sword  from  his  neck  and 
zvhirling  the  boy  out  of  his  path):  Confide  you  in 
your  Wise  Men  and  the  sword  of  your  "King  of 
Kings !"  My  reliance  shall  be  this  good  sword  of 
Herod.  (The  soldier  starts  up  the  steps  of  the  arch. 
There  comes  a  crash  of  thunder  and  the  light  goes  out 
suddenly*  Then  through  the  curtain  is  seen  rank  ris 
ing  upon  rank,  a  pyramid  of  white-robed  angels  with 
uplifted  swords  above  the  mother  kneeling  with  the 
babe  in  her  arms.  The  swords  sink  in  unison  until 
they  point  at  the  soldier's  breast.  He  reels  and  falls 
backward,  his  sword  clanging  to  the  floor.  An  in 
visible  chorus  sings,  "Peace  on  earth,"  while  the  vision 
gradually  fades  away  and  the  front  light  returns.) 

SOLDIER  (Staggering  to  his  feet) :  Lead  me  forth ! 
My  eyesight  is  gone.  (The  boy  leads  him  out.  A 
moment  later  the  trumpet  again  sounds,  and  the  boy 
returns  as  the  mother  and  daughter  come  out  upon 
the  platform.  All  fall  upon  their  knees  in  thanks 
giving  while  faint  and  far  aivay  the  invisible  chorus 
again  is  heard.) 

CURTAIN 


PHOEBE    LOUISE 
A  ONE- ACT  PLAY 

By 
BERNARD  SOBEL 


BERNARD  SOBEL 

Bernard  Sobel  received  his  B.  S.  from  Purdue  Uni 
versity,  his  Ph.  B.  from  the  University  of  Chicago, 
and  his  M.  A.  from  Wisconsin  University.  He  was 
formerly  Assistant-Professor  of  English  at  Purdue 
University;  also  Lecturer  on  Modern  Drama  for  Indi 
ana  University.  He  is  now  a  member  of  the  Faculty 
of  the  College  of  the  City  of  New  York.  Mr.  Sobel 
has  specialized  in  publicity  and  was  Director  of 
Opportunities,  in  charge  of  all  western  publicity  for 
the  Professional  Division  of  the  United  States  Em 
ployment  Service.  He  is  now  Press  Representative 
for  Earl  Carroll  and  the  Earl  Carroll  Theatre,  New 
York  City. 

Mr.  Sobel's  printed  writings  include  "How  Do  They 
Do  It,"  Photoplay  Magazine,  "The  School-Teacher 
in  Literature,"  Educational  Issues,  (reprinted  in  The 
Literary  Digest) ;  "What's  Wrong  With  the  Movies," 
"Actors  Who  Are  Hidden,"  "The  English  Players," 
"Publicity  and  The  Truth,"  "A  Constellation  of 
Stars,"  The  Theatre  Magazine;  "Sam  H.  Harris  and 
the  Three  T's,"  "Child  Actors,"  Success  Magazine', 
"The  Little  Theatre  in  the  West,"  Christian  Science 
Monitory  "A  Census  of  Desserts,"  "Side-lines  of  a 
Bootblack,"  "Living  Images,"  "Curtain  Calls  and 
Curtain  Speeches,"  New  York  Tribune  Sunday  Maga 
zine;  "We  Can  Dance,"  "The  Stage  Mother,"  "The 
Stage  Door  Man,"  Dramatic  Mirror]  "The  Green 
Room,"  Pantomime;  "The  Civil  Engineer,"  The  Road 

78 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  79 

Maker;  "The  Earl  Carroll  Theatre,"  Arts  and  Deco 
rations;  "The  Right  to  Life  in  Modern  Drama," 
South  Atlantic  Quarterly;  "Puffing  the  Piano,"  Car 
toons;  "The  Immortal"  (with  Carl  Click),  a  one-act 
play,  Poet  Lore;  "Before  and  After,"  a  one-act  play, 
The  White  Way;  "Pageant  Possibilities,"  Mississippi 
Valley  Historical  Quarterly.  Book  reviews  and 
dramatic  criticism  for  The  Dial,  The  Theatre,  The 
Spotlight,  The  Electrical  World,  etc.,  Phoebe  Louise, 
produced  by  the  Indianapolis  Little  Theatre;  The 
Spider  Web,  produced  by  the  Hull  House  Players, 
Cheer  Up  and  There's  Always  a  Reason,  one-act 
plays  produced  by  the  English  Players,  Purdue  Uni 
versity. 

PHOEBE  LOUISE 

This  play  is  distinctly  modern  in  theme.  The 
Burkes  are  all  interesting  studies:  Julius  and  Mamie 
are  representative  of  the  shrewd  Yankee  one  often 
meets.  Lydia  "sets  off"  her  elders  clearly,  possess 
ing  an  appalling  combination  of  her  parents'  char 
acteristics  as  well  as  some  distinctive  traits  of  her 
own.  Her  disconcerting  questions  are  responsible  for 
much  of  the  humor  of  the  play. 


(Copyrighted.  Applications  to  produce  Phoebe  Louise 
should  be  addressed  to  Professor  Sobel,  the  Lyric  Theatre, 
Forty-Second  Street,  near  Broadway,  New  York  City.) 


PHOEBE  LOUISE 

CHARACTERS 

JULIUS  BURKE. 
MAMIE  BURKE,  his  wife. 
LYDIA,  their  eight-year-old  child. 
A  Girl  nineteen  years  of  age. 

SCENE:  A  luxurious  living-room  in  the  Burke 
home.  Everything  is  of  the  best.  There  is  a  general 
atmosphere  of  comfort  and  convenience.  There  is  a 
door  at  the  rear  of  the  room  (left)  which  leads  to  the 
street  and  a  door  at  the  right  which  leads  to  Lydia's 
bedroom.  Mrs.  Burke  is  crocheting.  Lydia  is  play 
ing  with  her  dolls  at  the  center  of  the  stage.  Mr. 
Burke,  in  an  easy  chair  (right),  is  reading  the  news 
paper.  He  wears  slippers.  His  coat  is  hanging  on 
the  back  of  his  chair.  The  gold  watch  chain  hanging 
across  his  vest  is  very  prominent.  At  the  left  of  the 
center  is  a  table,  with  books,  a  lamp  and  a  desk  tele 
phone.  As  the  curtain  rises,  Lydia  is  talking. 

LYDIA:     Oh,  mother. 

(Mamie,    disregarding    her,    continues    with    her 
work.) 

LYDIA    (Throwing    her    dolls    aside):     Mother,    I 
want  to  ask  you  something. 

80 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  81 

MAMIE  (Finally):  Well,  what  is  it?  Do  you 
really  have  to  ask  this  question?  Is  it  so  important 
that  you  have  to  disturb  me? 

LYDIA:     Yes.     It's  very  important. 

MAMIE:  Then,  let's  hear  it  right  away  and  get  it 
over.  What  is  it,  Lydia  ? 

LYDIA:     Please  tell  me  the  exact  time. 

MAMIE  (Glancing  at  her  watch):  It  is  now  a 
quarter  of  eight. 

LYDIA:  Then  how  much  longer  will  we  have  to 
wait  for  Phoebe  Louise? 

MAMIE:     About  ten  minutes,  if  the  train  is  on  time. 

LYDIA  :  And  if  the  train  is  late,  how  long  will  we 
have  to  wait? 

MAMIE:     That  depends. 

LYDIA:     Depends  on  how  late  the  train  will  be? 

MAMIE  :     Exactly. 

LYDIA:     Do  you  think  the  train  will  be  late? 

MAMIE:     I  don't  know,  Lydia.     How  can  I  tell? 

LYDIA:     But  can't  you  even  guess? 

JULIUS  (Exasperated,  and  throwing  aside  his 
paper):  No,  she  can't,  Lydia,  and  I  wish  that  you 
would  stop  a  few  of  those  senseless  questions  so  that 
I  could  read  the  paper.  There's  a  story  here  about  a 
shrewd  woman  thief ;  she's  been  going  around  town — 

MAMIE:  Yes,  I  know,  but  you  don't  have  to  be 
so  cross  with  the  child,  Julius.  It  is  only  natural  that 
she  would  be  interested  in  a  cousin  whom  she  has 
never  seen. 

JULIUS:  Well,  it's  not  Lydia  I'm  cross  with, — 
exactly.  It's  Judge  Henry  Blocker. 

MAMIE:     What  has  the  judge  done  now? 


82  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JULIUS  :  Oh,  nothing.  But  I  just  want  to  say 
that  if  we  should  lose  a  thousand  dollars,  we  can 
blame  it  on  that  old  fossil. 

MAMIE:  A  thousand  dollars!  Why,  how  could 
Judge  Blocker  cause  you — 

JULIUS:  Oh,  nothing.  It's  a  matter  of  business; 
you  couldn't  understand.  (He  takes  up  his  paper 
again.)  Now,  Lydia,  my  child,  be  a  good  little  girl. 

LYDIA:  I  will,  father.  But  I  wish  that  Phoebe 
would  come.  I'm  dying  to  see  her.  (She  is  silent 
for  a  moment,  then  runs  over  to  her  mother.) 
Mother,  what  do  you  think  Phoebe  Louise  will  be 
like?  Are  cousins  like  other  relatives?  Father  told 
me  that — • 

MAMIE:     What  did  your  father  tell  you? 

LYDIA:     He  said  that  she  would — 

MAMIE:  Your  father  doesn't  know  any  more 
about  her  than  I  do  and  I  only  know  her  by  name. 
He  never  saw  her.  He  never  saw  her  mother,  and 
he  hasn't  seen  her  father  in  more  than  twenty-one 
years.  I  wish  that  we  did  know  more  about  her. 
This  idea  of  bringing  a  complete  stranger  to  live  with 
us  has  completely  upset  me.  We'll  have  to  change 
our  whole  method  of  living. 

LYDIA:     Will  we  have  dessert  every  day? 

MAMIE:  Heavens,  no!  Dessert  is  an  extrava 
gance,  and  you  know  what  your  father  thinks  about 
extravagance. 

LYDIA:  Yes,  but  you  have  dessert  when  we  have 
company  and  Phoebe  Louise  will  be  company. 

MAMIE:  No,  she  won't,  and  the  sooner  she  learns 
that  the  better.  She  won't  be  company  because  she's 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  83 

a  relative.  But  that  doesn't  mean  that  we  won't  be 
good  to  her.  Remember  that,  Lydia,  we  must  be 
very  good  to  her  and  love  her. 

JULIUS  (Throwing  down  his  paper):  Yes,  indeed, 
we  must.  We  must  love  her  and  treat  her  the  best 
way  we  know  how.  She's  my  brother's  only  child  and 
my  only  living  relative  and  I  want  to  show  her  how 
much  I  think  of  her  (taking  out  his  watch.)  I  wish 
that  she  were  here  now  so  that  I  could  tell  her  how 
welcome  she  is. 

MAMIE:     You're  mighty  generous,  Julius. 

JULIUS:  I  can  afford  to  be.  I'm  well-to-do, — • 
successful.  I  want  to  live  and  let  live.  And  I  want 
her  to  know  how  I  feel, — at  once.  First  impressions 
are  the  strongest. 

MAMIE:  We  always  do  our  part  by  those  who 
need  help,  don't  we. 

JULIUS:  We  believe  in  dividing,  of  course,  but 
this  is  a  special  case.  Phoebe  Louise  belongs  to  our 
own  family.  We  must  make  a  special  effort  from 
the  very  moment  she  reaches  here.  I  don't  want  her 
to  feel  lonesome  or  unhappy  a  second.  As  soon  as 
she  comes  make  a  fuss  over  her.  Don't  let  her  feel 
strange.  Make  her  feel  perfectly  at  home.  Lydia, 
you  run  up  to  her  and  kiss  her,  and,  Mamie,  you  and 
I  will  do  the  same. 

MAMIE:     What  if  she  should  say  that — 

JULIUS  :  Don't  give  her  a  chance  to  say  anything. 
Just  welcome  her.  Take  her  things.  Give  her  the 
easy  chair  and  make  her  happy.  If  she's  not  too 
tired  after  traveling  we'll  devise  some  means  of 
entertainment. 


84  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MAMIE:     That   sounds  a   little  extravagant,   dear. 

JULIUS:  Never  mind.  This  once  we'll  do  things 
handsomely. 

LYDIA  (Dancing  around):  Goody,  goody,  we'll 
have  a  dessert  every  day ! 

MAMIE:  Hush,  child.  Don't  be  silly.  To  hear 
her  talk,  a  person  would  think  that  she  didn't  have 
all  she  wants.  Don't  you  think,  Julius,  that  you  had 
better  put  on  your  coat  and  shoes  ? 

JULIUS:  No,  indeed.  There's  no  need  being 
formal  with  one's  relative.  Now,  Lydia,  you  won't 
forget  to  do  that —  (The  bell  rings.)  There  she  is 
now.  (They  rush  to  the  door  and  open  it,  all  talk 
ing  at  once.  They  scarcely  give  the  new  arrival  a 
chance  to  pass,  so  demonstrative  are  they  in  their 
welcome.  She  carries  a  suit-case  and  looks  tired. 
Lydia,  true  to  directions,  has  throzvn  her  arms  around 
her  and  kissed  her  and,  while  the  others  salute  her, 
she  talks  and  hugs  her.  Meanwhile,  by  degrees,  they 
get  her  seated  and  slowly  relieve  her  of  her  hat,  coat 
and  bag.  All  talk  at  one  time.) 

MAMIE:  Now  we  want  you  to  feel  perfectly  at 
home.  Perfectly.  And  be  sure  to  do  just  as  you 
wish  and,  and — 

LYDIA:  And  we're  going  to  have  dessert  every 
day,  every  single  day.  Aren't  we,  mother? 

MAMIE:  Of  course  we  will,  Lydia;  that  is,  if 
Phoebe  cares  enough  about  sweets  to  have  them  every 
day.  Now  take  her  hat,  Lydia,  and  put  it  where  it 
belongs  and  then  take  her  furs,  and  don't  let  them 
drag  on  the  floor.  That's  it.  Now,  Phoebe,  as  I  said 
we  want  you  to  feel  perfectly  at  home. 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  85 

JULIUS  (Rubbing  his  hands,  characteristically): 
Yes,  Phoebe  Louise,  you  are  my  brother's  only  child 
and  my  only  living  kin  and  I  want  to  do  the  right 
thing  by  you, — handsomely.  It's  twenty  years  since 
I've  seen  your  father. 

LYDIA  (Interrupting):  Why,  father,  you  said 
twenty-one,  before. 

JULIUS:  That's  right.  It's  twenty-one  years  since 
I've  seen  your  father  and  I've  never  seen  you  at  all. 
But  I  want  to  say  that  I  would  have  known  you  in  a 
minute.  You  are  the  very  image  of  him.  Every 
gesture,  every  movement,  is  just  like  his  were. 

LYDIA:     How  can  you  remember  so  well,  father? 

JULIUS:  One  doesn't  forget  one's  brothers,  my 
child ;  that  is  (embarrassed),  one  doesn't  forget,  at 
least,  what  they  look  like.  It  seems  like  a  day  since 
we  were  together.  We  quarreled  over  a  matter  of 
business.  I  don't  wish  to  speak  ill  of  the  dead,  but 
he  was  in  the  wrong. 

MAMIE:     Julius!     How  can  you? 

JULIUS:  I  beg  your  pardon,  Phoebe  Louise,  I 
meant  no  offense.  You  see  our  difficulty  grew  out  of 
a  matter  of  money.  I  was  managing  the  business  as 
I  saw  fit  and  doing  well  too,  but  he  wouldn't  cooper 
ate  ;  so  we  parted.  I  kept  the  business  and  have  been 
rather  successful,  but  he  failed  to  prosper. 

LYDIA:     I  thought  you  said  he  was  poor,  daddy. 

JULIUS  :  He  was.  That's  what  "failed  to  prosper" 
means,  my  child.  I  have  always  (explaining)  be 
lieved  in  taking  time  to  explain  a  new  term  to  a  child. 
Well,  as  I  said,  let  the  dead  past  bury  its  dead.  It 
will  be  our  pleasant  duty  now  to  look  after  you. 


86  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

Mama  (to  Mamie),  what  entertainment  have  you  pro 
vided  for  our  niece?  What  are  we  going  to  do  this 
evening  ? 

LYDIA  :     Can  I  go  'long  ? 

JULIUS:  We  haven't  decided  yet  where  we  are 
going.  Besides  little  children  are  not  expected  to  go 
out  after  dinner.  What  are  your  plans,  mama? 

MAMIE:  I  thought  that  we  would  go  to  the 
theatre  or  to  the  roof  garden,  but  (as  the  girl  seems 
about  to  protest)  she  looks  tired,  don't  you  think? 
(Goes  over  to  her  and  caresses  her.)  I'm  afraid  you 
are  too  tired  to  dress  up  for  the  roof  garden  after 
your  long  trip.  Traveling  tires  me  too,  unless  I  take 
a  chair  car,  and  though  a  chair  car  is  an  extrava 
gance,  I  always  take  one  to  avoid  getting  a  headache. 

JULIUS:  But,  Mamie,  you're  not  answering  my 
question.  If  we're  not  going  to  the  roof  garden,  we 
could  go  to  the  theatre.  She  wouldn't  have  to  dress 
up  much  to  go  to  the  Alhambra. 

MAMIE:  All  right,  dear,  call  up  for  the  seats. 
(Julius  starts  for  the  telephone.) 

LYDIA:     But,  papa,  you  can't  go  to  the  Alhambra. 

JULIUS:     Why  not,  Lydia? 

LYDIA  :     Because — 

JULIUS  (Impatiently):    Yes? 

LYDIA:    You  said — 

JULIUS:     Well,  what  is  it? 

LYDIA:     But,  papa — 

JULIUS:     Yes.     Hurry  up.     Why  can't  I  go  there? 

LYDIA  :  When  you  called  them  up  this  afternoon, 
you  said  that  they  had  only  parquet  seats. 

JULIUS:     Yes,   yes    (embarrassed).     But   what   of 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  87 

that,  Lydia?  Hurry  up,  dear,  so  that  I  can 
call  up. 

LYDIA  (Elaborately):  Well,  you  said  that  you 
wouldn't  go  in  parquet  seats  because  they  are  an  ex 
travagance. 

JULIUS:  By  George,  that's  right.  I  was  unable 
to  get  seats  when  I  called  up  before.  I  had  forgotten 
completely.  Why  didn't  you  remind  me,  Mamie? 

MAMIE:  I  should  think  that  you  would  be  able 
to  remember  yourself  whether  you  had  called  up  or 
not.  You  know  I'm  not  responsible  for  everything. 
It  wasn't  my  plan  to  go  to  the  theatre. 

JULIUS:  That's  right.  I'm  in  the  wrong  again. 
I'm  always  in  the  wrong. 

MAMIE:     I  didn't  say  that.     What  I   said   was — 

LYDIA  :     Mama. 

MAMIE:     What  now,  Lydia? 

LYDIA:  If  you  are  not  going  to  the  theatre  and 
you're  not  going  to  the  roof  garden,  where  are  you 
going?  How  are  you  going  to  entertain  Cousin 
Phoebe  Louise? 

MAMIE:  We  might  go  riding  in  the  machine.  I 
think  that  would  rest  her  and  do  us  all  good.  What 
do  you  think  of  that,  Julius? 

JULIUS:  Excellent,  dear.  But  I'm  sorry  that 
Jones  has  made  other  arrangements.  It's  his  night 
off,  you  know,  and  he  has  put  up  the  machine. 

LYDIA:  Can't  you  drive,  daddy?  Please  drive 
and  take  me  along. 

JULIUS:  Daddy's  tired,  Lydia,  and  besides,  with 
gasoline  where  it  is  these  days,  I  feel  that  night 
driving  is  really  an  extravagance. 


88  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

LYDIA:  Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  I  can't  do  anything. 
(She  begins  to  cry  and  they  strive  to  comfort  her.) 

JULIUS:  There,  there,  baby.  Don't  cry.  If  you 
stop,  we'll  get  you  some  ice-cream,  a  great  big  dish. 

LYDIA  (She  stops  crying):     May  I  have  chocolate? 

JULIUS  :     Certainly.     What  will  you  have,  mama  ? 

MAMIE:  None  for  me,  thanks.  You  know  it 
doesn't  seem  to  be  agreeing  with  me  lately.  But  order 
some  for  the  rest.  I'm  sure  that  will  refresh  Phoebe 
Louise. 

JULIUS:  No,  Mamie,  we  won't  do  that.  If  you 
don't  care  for  any,  we  won't  take  any.  To-morrow, 
though,  we'll  take  Lydia  down-town  and  buy  her  a 
great  big  hot  chocolate  fudge,  instead.  How  would 
you  like  that,  dear?  (Lydia  dances,  then  she  takes  his 
hand  and  they  dance  together.  Mamie  sings  and 
keeps  time  until  her  hands.) 

JULIUS:  (As  he  wipes  his  forehead):  I  tell  you, 
there's  no  place  like  home.  I  think  we'll  just  stay 
home  to-night  and  have  a  nice  family  talk.  You, 
Mamie,  I  want  to  give  a  deep  consideration  to  Phoebe 
Louise's  affairs,  and  the  present  is  just  as  good  a  time 
as  any. 

MAMIE  :  Who  was  that  marriageable  Mr.  Lemuel 
you  were  talking  about,  Julius? 

LYDIA:  I  thought  you  said  he  had  something  the 
matter  with  his  foot. 

JULIUS  :  I  did  indeed,  but  that's  merely  tempo 
rary.  He's  a  very  pleasant  fellow,  I  tell  you.  Perhaps 
we'll  be  able  to  have  him  down  soon.  In  the  mean' 
\vhile, — • 

MAMIE:     In  the  meanwhile — 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  89 

JULIUS:  Yes,  in  the  meanwhile  she  must  be  pro 
vided  for, — provided  for;  that  is,  in  some  way.  I 
know  (to  the  girl)  you  are  too  independent  to  want 
to  live  off  your  relatives.  Yes,  (continuing  without 
giving  her  a  chance  to  respond)  I  know  that  you  are 
too  much  like  your  father  to  want  to  be  dependent. 
I  can  see  that  in  every  feature.  Your  eyes  are  just 
exactly  like  his. 

MAMIE:  We  can  be  very  helpful  to  you.  Your 
Uncle  Julius  has  a  tremendous  influence.  He  is  on 
intimate  terms  with  Henry  Blocker  of  the  First 
National  Bank. 

JULIUS:  Not  that  old  fool  Judge  Henry  Blocker. 
He's  not  in  the  bank.  It's  Samuel  Blocker. 

MAMIE:  Samuel  Blocker,  then.  There  will  be  no 
need  of  your  worrying  about  your  clothes  being  a 
trifle  shabby,  because  I  have  an  old  coat  that  could 
be  cleaned  and  pressed  to  look  just  like  new. 

LYDIA  :  But,  mother,  why  can't — I  want  to  know 
why  can't  she  live  with  us  all  the  time? 

JULIUS:  Well  (coughing),  why — a — simply — be 
cause 

LYDIA  (Starts  to  cry  again):  I  suppose  that's  an 
extravagance  too.  I  think  it's  a  shame.  I  want  to 
have  Phoebe.  (Cries  hard.  They  strive  to  soothe 
her.  The  bell  rings.) 

MAMIE  :  Who  can  that  be  ?  I  hope  it's  not  a  guest. 
I  haven't  a  thing  in  the  house.  ( The  bell  rings  again. 
Julius  goes  to  the  door  and  comes  back  carrying  a 
large  package,  decorated  with  sprigs  of  holly.  Mamie 
and  Lydia  crowd  around  the  table  as  he  unwraps  it. 
Finally,  he  discloses  an  elaborate  silver  tea-set  with 


90  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

complete  accessories.  They  gasp  with  admiration  and 
Lydia  claps  her  hands.) 

MAMIE  (Finally) :  Who  sent  it  ?  (There  is  a 
scramble  for  the  card.) 

JULIUS  (Finds  it  and  reads):  "Holiday  greetings 
from  Judge  and  Mrs.  Henry  Blocker." 

MAMIE:  What  a  beautiful  Christmas  spirit!  I've 
been  dying  for  a  new  tea-set.  How  lovely  of  them, — 
so  thoughtful.  They  certainly  spared  no  expense. 
And  here  you've  been  calling  the  Judge  an  old  fool. 

LYDIA:     What  are  you  going  to  give  them? 

(There  is  an  abrupt  silence  and  then  Julius  solemly 
repeats) :  That's  the  question.  What  are  we  going  to 
give  them? 

MAMIE:  It  will  have  to  be  something  elaborate  to 
compensate  for  that. 

LYDIA:     What   does  "compensate"  mean,   mother? 

MAMIE:  I  used  the  wrong  word.  I  mean  recipro 
cate. 

JULIUS  :  Yes,  indeed,  it  will  cost  us  a  pretty  penny. 
Can't  you  think  of  something,  Mamie? 

MAMIE:     Can't  you?     You  are  always  so  ingenius. 

JULIUS  (Absorbed) :  How  would  a  beautiful  lamp  do  ? 

MAMIE:     Can  you  get  one  wholesale? 

JULIUS:     I  think  so,  if  I  call  up  Macpherson. 

MAMIE:  This  is  a  bad  time.  He  may  not  like  to 
be  called  up  at  his  home,  after  business  hours. 

JULIUS:  Perhaps  we  won't  have  to  send  anything 
so  expensive  anyway.  Haven't  you  something  about 
the  house? 

MAMIE:     Let  me   see.     Christmas   presents   are   a 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  91 

nuisance.  I  have  that  little  alcohol  lamp  that  the 
Smiths  sent  me  last  year  from  Wisconsin. 

JULIUS  :     The  very  thing, — but  is  it  enough  ? 

MAMIE:  You  could  send  that  to  Judge  Blocker 
and  I  could  send  a  piece  of  handwork  to  his  wife. 
The  two  presents  would  look  rather  pretentious. 

JULIUS  :  Good !  You're  a  very  clever  wife, 
Mamie. 

MAMIE:  That  is,  if  I  have  any  on  hand.  Lydia, 
bring  me  my  embroidery  box.  (Lydia  goes  at  once.) 
It  seems  to  me  that  I  had  a  handsome  table  cover  put 
away  and  if  it's  there,  it  will  be  just  the  thing.  (Lydia 
returns  with  the  box  and  Mamie  searches  it  hastily.) 
Sure  enough,  here  it  is.  But  it's  not  quite  finished. 
What  shall  I  do?  There's  at  least  an  hour's  work 
here  and  I'll  have  to  get  it  there  right  away  so  that 
they  won't  think  that  we  waited  to  get  their  gift  first. 
(Thinks  a  moment.)  I  know.  Phoebe,  you  crochet, 
don't  you?  All  girls  do  nowadays.  Here,  won't  you 
be  good  enough  to  finish  out  these  few  scallops  of  the 
border  while  I  do  the  ends  ?  (Begins  instructing  her.) 
You  see,  you  take  ten  stitches  here :  go  back  nine ; 
herring  stitch  twice  and  then  overcast.  Quite  easy. 
That's  right.  (Watches  her  approvingly  and  then 
goes  over  to  admire  the  tea-set.)  It's  handsome. 
How  could  you  say  that  the  Judge  is  an  old  fool? 
You  certainly  never  did  understand  men. 

JULIUS  (Annoyed) :  Never  did  understand  men. 
Well,  I  know  a  business  man  when  I  see  one.  The 
Judge  doesn't  know  any  more  about  business  than  a 
child.  See  what  he  did.  (Rushes  over  to  chair  and 


92  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

takes  purse  out  of  his  coat  pocket.)  See  what  he  did, 
seeing  you  know  vso  much  about  business.  He  met 
me  down-town  this  afternoon  and  paid  me  the  money 
he  owed  me  in  spot  cash.  There  it  is  (opening  purse} 
one  thousand  dollars  in  spot  cash.  You'd  think  he 
had  never  heard  of  a  check.  The  old  farmer ! 

MAMIE  (Startled) :  Good  heavens,  Julius,  how 
much  is  it?  I'm  afraid  to  have  you  carry  so  much. 

JULIUS:  Nonsense.  It's  only  a  little  over  eleven 
hundred  dollars. 

MAMIE  :     Why  didn't  you  put  it  in  the  bank  ? 

JULIUS:  1  told  you  just  now  that  he  gave  it  to  me 
this  evening,  after  the  bank  was  closed.  You  know 
I'm  not  a  baby.  It  isn't  the  first  time  I've  carried  a 
little  money.  (He  returns  the  purse  to  the  coat 
pocket.)  You  don't  need  to  worry.  If  you'll  excuse 
me  now,  I'll  go  on  with  my  paper.  (Sits  down  and 
begins  to  read.) 

LYDIA  (Tosses  doll  across  room  in  a  rage):  Now 
what  am  I  going  to  do?  Mama's  working  and 
Phoebe's- working.  What  am  I  going  to  do? 

MAMIE  :  You're  going  to  bed,  young  lady.  (Takes 
her  by  the  hand  and  leads  her  off  while  Lydia  shrieks 
and  continues  to  shriek.) 

MAMIE  (Finally  calling  from  the  other  room): 
Julius,  come  here.  I  can't  do  a  thing  with  her,  Julius. 

JULIUS  (Exasperated,  pitches  paper  on  to  the  floor): 
That  child  is  a  nuisance.  (Rushes  into  other  room.) 

(The  sound  of  Lydia  s  crying  mingles  with  the 
voices  of  Mamie  and  Julius.  Meanwhile  the  girl  rises, 
looks  cautiously  about,  runs  over  to  the  coat  and  takes 
out  the  money.  She  removes  several  bills  which  she 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  93 

places  in  an  envelope.  SJie  addresses  the  envelope, 
puts  a  stamp  on  it  and  places  it  under  the  dictionary. 
Then  she  writes  a  note,  places  it  in  a  conspicuous 
place,  near  the  telephone.  She  is  about  to  make  a 
hasty  retreat  when  Mamie  calls  suddenly  from  the 
other  room:  "Phoebe,  oh,  Phoebe/"  She  waits 
breathless  a  moment.  Then  Mamie  calls  again: 
"Don't  bother.  It's  all  right."  The  girl  rushes  out  of 
the  room.  There  is  silence  for  a  few  seconds  and 
then  Mamie  re  enters.) 

MAMIE:  How  are  you  getting  along,  Phoebe? 
(Not  seeing  her):  Phoebe,  where  are  you?  Phoebe 
Louise.  Julius!  Lydia!  Come  quickly.  She's  gone. 
Hurry  up. 

JULIUS:    What's  happened?    Who's  gone? 

MAMIE:     Phoebe  Louise.     She's  gone. 

JULIUS:  Well,  what  of  it?  A  good  riddance,  I'd 
say. 

MAMIE:     What  of  it?     But  your, — your — 

JULIUS  :  By  jove !  (Rushes  over  to  his  coat. 
Searches  it  wildly.)  It's  gone.  My  pocketbook.  It's 
gone.  She's  robbed  us. 

MAMIE:  Good  heavens!  Call  the  police.  We 
might  catch  her.  Hurry! 

JULIUS  (Rushes  over  to  the  telephone.  He  sees  the 
note):  What's  this?  (Opens  it  quickly.)  Here's  a 
message. 

MAMIE  :     Read  it ! 

JULIUS  (Savagely):  Give  me  time.  (Puts  on  his 
glasses  and  reads) :  "You  have  both  made  a  big  mis 
take.  I  am  not  Phoebe  Louise  and  I  never  saw  Phoebe 
Louise.  I  am  simply — " 


94  A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MAMIE:  Good  heavens!  What  did  I  tell  you? 
How  could  you  be  so  careless  ? 

JULIUS:  I  wasn't  careless.  You  called  me  away. 
How  should  I  know  that  she — 

MAMIE:     Go  on.     Finish  the  letter. 

JULIUS  (Reading):  "I  didn't  take  all  of  the  money. 
I  left  three  hundred  dollars  for  Phoebe  Louise.  Give 
it  to  her,  please,  when  she  comes.  Poor  soul !  She 
will  need  it,  with  such  relatives." 

MAMIE:     She  left  three  hundred  dollars,  she  says. 

JULIUS  :     Where  is  it  ?     Why  don't  you  look  for  it  ? 

MAMIE:     Finish  the  letter  and  find  out  where  it  is. 

JULIUS:  "The  money  is  under  the  dictionary  in  a 
stamped  envelope  addressed  to  Phoebe  Louise.  See 
that  she  gets  it.  Good-by.  I'll  send  you  a  souvenir 
postal  card  some  day." 

JULIUS:     WThat  impudence.     "See  that  she  gets  it." 

(Mamie  finds  the  envelope.) 

JULIUS:     It's  our  money. 

MAMIE:  But  is  it?  I  don't  know  whether  it  is  or 
not? 

JULIUS:     What  do  you  mean?     Are  you  crazy? 

MAMIE:  It's  in  a  letter  addressed  to  some  one  else. 
We  daren't  take  it.  It's  like  stealing. 

JULIUS  :  Stealing !  That's  good  logic.  The  money's 
ours.  The  envelope's  ours  and  the  stamp  is  ours. 
Haven't  we  lost  enough  already  without  losing — 

MAMIE:  I  don't  care  .what  you  say.  I  won't 
touch  it.  I  like  money,  but  this  seems  like  a  theft. 

JULIUS:     Well,  if  you  won't,  I  will. 

MAMIE:  .We'll  see  about  that. 


PHOEBE  LOUISE  95 

(Their  angry  voices  rise  together.  Then  the  bell 
rings  and  they  grow  suddenly  silent.) 

JULIUS  (Startled):  It's  the  real  Phoebe  Louise. 
She's  come  at  last.  Hurry.  Give  me  the  money. 

MAMIE  :  The  real  Phoebe  Louise.  Lots  you  know 
about  it.  You  said  the  other  was  the  exact  image  of 
her  father,  the  father  you  hadn't  seen  in  twenty  years. 
(They  quarrel  again,  both  trying  to  hold  the  envelope. 
The  bell  rings  a  second  time.  They  rush  to  the  door, 
then  back  to  the  table  and  then  back  to  the  door, 
gesticulating  angrily.  Reenter  Lydia,  in  her  night- 
gown.) 

LYDIA  :  The  bell's  ringing.  Why  don't  you  answer 
it?  (Mamie  and  Julius  continue  to  rush  back  and 
forth.  Lydia  watches  them  and  then  breaks  into  a 
long  hearty  laugh.) 

CURTAIN 


EVER    YOUNG 
A  ONE- ACT  PLAY 

By 
ALICE  GERSTENBERG 


ALICE  GERSTENBERG 

Alice  Gerstenberg  was  born  in  Chicago  of  parents 
who  were  both  born  in  Chicago  (Erich  and  Julia 
Gerstenberg)  3rd  generation  in  that  city.  She  was 
educated  at  Bryn  Mawr  College.  She  is  the  author 
of 

Novels — Unquenched  Fire,  published  by  Small, 
Maynard,  Boston,  1912,  repubished  in  England  by 
John  Long,  and  The  Conscience  of  Sarah  Plait,  A.  C. 
McClurg  £  Company.  A  dramatization  (published 
and  produced)  of  Lewis  Carroll's  Alice  in  Wonder 
land  and  Through  the  Looking-Glass.  Produced  at  the 
Fine  Arts  Theatre,  Chicago,  and  at  the  Booth  Theatre, 
New  York. 

Overtones,  a  one-act  play,  produced  by  the  Wash 
ington  Square  Players  at  the  Bandbox  Theatre  to 
represent  the  American  play  in  a  group  of  compara 
tive  comedies.  Later  produced  in  vaudeville  with 
Helen  Lackaye  and  in  England  with  Lily  Langtry. 
Later  published  by  Doubleday,  Page  &  Company,  in  a 
volume  entitled  Four  Washington  Square  Plays. 
(The  three-act  version  of  this  play  by  Alice  Gersten 
berg  and  Alan  Kay  has  recently  been  produced  in 
The  Playwrights'  Theatre  of  Chicago.) 

"Beyond,"  a  monologue  published  in  a  volume  by 
Little,  Brown  &  Company,  entitled  Representative 
Plays,  selected  by  Margaret  G.  Mayorga. 

''The  Pot  Boiler,"  a  one-act  play  published  in  a 
volume  by  Stewart-Kidd  entitled  Fifty  Contemporary 

98 


EVER  YOUNG  99 

One-Act  Plays  of  the  World,  compiled  by  Frank  Shay 
and  Pierre  Loving.  The  Pot  Boiler  was  played  in 
the  Players'  Workshop,  Chicago ;  the  Theatre  Work 
shop,  New  York ;  by  the  Arthur  Maitland  Players, 
San  Francisco;  by  the  Community  Theatre  in  Holly 
wood  ;  in  many  other  Little  Theatres ;  in  the  trenches 
in  France,  and  in  vaudeville. 

Other  one-act  productions  are  The  Unseen,  Four 
teen,  The  Buffer,  He  Said  and  She  Said,  Hearts,  Ever 
Young,  Attuned,  The  Illuminnatti  in  Drama  Libre, 
etc. 

For  the  last  three  years  Miss  Gerstenberg  has  been 
chairman  of  the  Drama  Committee  of  the  Arts  Club 
of  Chicago,  610  South  Michigan  Avenue,  and  has  been 
producing  plays  which  otherwise  would  have  no 
opportunity  of  production  because  of  the  present  state 
of  the  commercial  theatre. 

EVER  YOUNG 

Ever  Young  is  one  of  Miss  Gerstenberg's  favorite 
plays.  She  herself  says  of  it:  "It  is  a  dramatic 
exercisfe  in  writing,  a  play  with  very  little  'business' 
(such  as  moving  around  the  stage,  etc.),  but  the 
dramatic  action,  mental,  emotional  and  comic,  holds 
an  audience  tense.  For  study  in  technique,  it  ought 
to  be  interesting  as  it  shows  how  much  emotional 
drama  can  be  enacted  on  an  almost  static  stage." 

The  characters  in  this  play  are  not  at  all  the 
motherly,  sweet  old  ladies  so  common  to  the  story  and 
the  drama.  Nevertheless,  the  author  is  holding  the 


100          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

mirror  before  a  real  phase  of  American  life.  The 
young  reader  should  remember  that  the  author  here 
merely  paints  an  interesting  and  amusing  picture — 
she  does  not  exhibit  models! 


(Copyrighted.  Applications  for  amateurs  to  produce 
Ever  Young  should  be  addressed  to  Norman  Lee  Swartout, 
24  Blackburn  Road,  Summit,  New  Jersey.  Professionals 
should  address  Miss  Alice  Gerstenberg,  539  Deming  Place, 
Chicago,  Illinois.) 


EVER  YOUNG 

(A  cross-section  of  the  life  and  character  of 
four  women) 

CHARACTERS 

MRS.  PHOEBE  PAYNE-DEXTER. 
MRS.  AGNES  DORCHESTER. 
MRS.  WILLIAM  BLANCHARD. 
MRS.  CAROLINE  COURTNEY-PAGE. 

These  four  distinguished-looking  women  of  some 
sixty  and  seventy  years,  but  in  spirit  forever  young, 
enjoy  spending  a  few  hours  after  dinner  chatting  in 
a  corner  of  the  lobby  of  the  Poincianna  Hotel,  Palm 
Beach,  at  the  height  of  the  season,  from  which  van 
tage  ground  they  may  view  the  passing  show  of 
fashionables. 

SCENE:  A  corner  of  the  lobby  of  the  Poincianna 
Hotel,  Palm  Beach,  showing  wicker  chairs  (with 
cretonne  cushions)  sheltered  by  palms.  From  the 
distance  come  faint  strains  of  an  orchestra. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  (Enters  from  right  as  if 
looking  for  a  comfortable  chair.  She  pulls  the  chairs 
about  until  she  has  placed  them  to  suit  herself.  She 
is  followed  by  Mrs.  Dorchester,  who  also  chooses  a 
chair  to  suit  herself.  -Mrs.  Payne-Dexter's  face  is 

101 


102          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

zvrinklcd  but  there  is  little  sign  of  age  in  her  worldly 
humorous  eyes,  her  tightly  corseted  figure,  her  vibrant 
personality.  She  wears  a  lavender  brocade  evening 
gown  and  a  dog-collar  of  diamonds.  Her  white  hair 
is  perfectly  marcelled  and  her  well  manicured  hands 
flash  with  rings.  She  uses  a  diamond  studded  lor 
gnette  and  carries  a  large  hotel  room  key.  She  takes 
her  chair  with  the  authority  of  a  leader.)  There  was 
no  need  to  hurry  through  dinner,  Agnes,  there  are 
plenty  of  chairs. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  (Follows  Mrs.  Payne-Dexter. 
She  is  a  sweet  placid-faced  woman  with  white  hair, 
not  marcelled,  and  the  rosy  complexion  of  one  who 
has  lived  without  hurry  on  a  country  estate.  She 
wears  eye-glasses;  she  is  gowned  in  rich  gold  silk  and 
is  rather  too  overladen  with  old-fashioned  jewelry, 
ear-rings,  bracelets,  pendants,  rings,  mostly  amber, 
gold  and  black  onyx.  She  carries  a  capacious  bag  of 
black  and  gold  brocade  which  contains  her  knitting 
and  which  she  begins  to  pull  out  as  soon  as  she  is 
comfortably  seated.  The  ball  of  wool  and  the  baby 
sock  she  is  knitting  are  soft  blue.)  We  missed  our 
chance  last  night  because  you  lingered  over  your 
coffee. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Dominatingly) :  I  always 
linger  over  my  coffee.  I  always  did  with  Thomas 
when  he  was  alive.  Our  family  always  has  lingered 
over  the  coffee. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Mildly):  In  another  moment 
there  would  not  have  been  a  chair  vacant.  Which 
one  do  you  prefer? 

MRS.    PAYNE-DEXTER:    Put   one   aside    for    Mrs. 


EVER  YOUNG  103 

Blanchard.     I  nodded  to  her  in  this  direction  as  we 
came  out  of  the  dining-room. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Sits):  She  will  like  this 
corner.  We  can  see  every  one  who  crosses 
the  lobby. 

MRS.  PAYNE- DEXTER  (Using  her  lorgnette):  How 
many  sights  and  how  many  frights  shall  we  see  to 
night?  Really,  Agnes,  I  wish  you  would  give  up 
wearing  your  old-fashioned  onyx  and  amber.  Why 
don't  you  turn  in  all  that  junk  and  get  something  new 
and  fashionable?  (Sits.) 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Oh,  I've  never  had  any  desire 
to  buy  jewelry  since  my  husband  died. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  But  that  was  ages  ago. 
I've  had  all  my  diamonds  reset  since  Thomas  went. 
I  had  my  wedding  ring  melted  and  molded  again  into 
an  orange  wreath. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  There's  the  young  bride  who 
arrived  to-day. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     Where? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Over  there  near  the  fountain 
in  a  very  low  gown. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     I  don't  see  her. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     She  moved  behind  the  column. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Rises  and  crosses):  I  can't 
see  her.  Why  didn't  you  tell  me  before  the  column 
got  in  the  way? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  If  you  were  not  so  vain, 
Phoebe,  you  \vould  wear  decent  glasses  like  mine. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  Indeed,  I  can  see  perfectly 
well. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Well,  I  don't  blame  you  for 


104          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

using  your  lorgnette.  It  does  add  distinction  to  your 
Payne-Dexter  manner. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Amused):  What!  Are  you 
still  impressed  by  my  manner? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  I  have  been  for  fifty  years — 
dear  me,  Phoebe,  is  it  really  fifty  years  ago  since  you 
and  I  were  debutantes? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Looking  about  carefully): 
Ssh !  Don't  let  the  hotel  know  I'm  seventy. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  No  one  guesses  it. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Rises  and  takes  chair  next  to 
Mrs.  Dorchester) :  I  certainly  don't  feel  it,  but  let  me 
tell  you,  these  young  debutantes  of  to-day  with  their 
supercilious  airs,  their  sophisticated  conversation,  their 
smoking  in  public  places,  are  not -going  to  crowd  me 
back  into  a  grandmother's  corner.  No!  I  shall  live 
another  twenty  years  at  least,  if  only  to  see  these  young 
things  grow  into  the  troubles  of  married  life,  and  it 
will  please  me. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Why  have  you  such  animosity 
toward  the  debutantes?  You  terrorize  them.  Every 
where  they  side-step  for  you.  In  elevators,  corridors, 
in  the  ballroom,  on  the  beach,  they  put  themselves  out 
to  be  deferential  to  you.  It  is  "Good  morning,  Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter,"  "Good  afternoon,  Mrs.  Payne-Dex 
ter,"  "Good  evening,  Mrs.  Payne-Dexter,"  but  they 
never  see  me,  even  though  we  have  been  here  since 
the  opening  of  the  season. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  It  is  because  you  don't 
create  the  atmosphere  which  demands  their  attention. 
I  am  putting  on  all  the  Payne-Dexter  airs  I  can  think 
of  to  terrorize  them :  I  want  to  make  the  debutantes 


EVER  YOUNG  105 

and  their  smart  young  men  side-step  for  me.  Their 
youth  and  prettiness  is  no  longer  mine,  but  I  hold  over 
them  the  whip  hand.  I  am  a  dowager,  a  member  of 
a  society  that  once  ruled  New  York,  and  does  still 
to  a  certain  extent  and  they  shall  bow  to  me  as  long 
as  I  inhale  one  breath  of  life ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  I  do  believe  you  are  jealous  of 
the  present  generation. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     I  am,  I  am  fiercely  jealous. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  But  we  have  had  our  own  day, 
Phoebe,  it  is  their  turn.  It  is  our  time  to  sit  back  and 
give  them  a  chance. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Agnes,  you  have  kept  your 
health  living  on  your  estate  in  Long  Island,  but  you 
have  watched  the  inevitable  drying  up  of  flowers  and 
leaves  in  autumn  and  you  have  followed  what  seems 
to  you  the  inevitable  progress  of  autumn  into  winter 
— well,  my  hair  may  be  white  as  snow,  but  my  blood 
is  still  red! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Your  vitality  is  a  marvel  to 
every  one.  Your  club  work,  civic  and  social  leader 
ship  make  even  the  doctors  amazed  at  you. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  The  doctors  are  my  worst 
enemies.  They  tell  me  I  must  not  eat  this,  I  must  not 
do  that.  They  tell  me  I  am  getting  old,  that  I  must 
rest.  I  do  not  wish  to  rest,  I  simply  won't  grow  old. 
When  one  has  been  a  leader,  one  can  not  let  younger 
women  usurp  one's  position. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:    You  still  have  your  leadership. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  I  still  have  it  because  I  will 
have  it,  because  I  will  not  let  it  go,  but  I  have  to  strive 
harder  for  it  every  year,  every  year  I  must  grow 


106          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

more  imperious,  more  dominating,  more  terrorizing  to 
hold  supremacy  over  this  new  independent  generation. 
(Looks  off  left.)  There  is  that  little  presumptuous 
May  Whigham.  She  is  eighteen  and  so  rude  I  should 
like  to  spank  her. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :     They  all  fear  you,  Phoebe. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (With  grim  humor):  I  hope 
so.  I  shall  not  be  pushed  into  a  corner  as  long  as  I 
still  draw  one  breath  of  life ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Looking  off  right):  Good  eve 
ning,  Mrs.  Blanchard. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  We  have  kept  a  chair  for 
you. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Enters  up-stage  from  audience. 
She  is  thin,  a  trifle  bent  with  age  and  needs  a  walking 
cane.  It  is  gold-topped  and  suspended  on  it  is  a  fan 
of  lavender  plumes,  and  a  gold  mesh  bag.  In  her  left 
hand  she  carries  a  book.  She  is  exquisitely  gowned  in 
light  blue  chiffon  and  rare  old  lace.  Her  face  is  like 
a  cameo,  scarcely  a  wrinkle  in  it,  and  her  smile  is 
illuminatingly  young.  She  wears  a  diamond  necklace 
but  no  rings.)  Good  evening,  Mrs.  Payne-Dexter,  Mrs. 
Dorchester. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Helping  Mrs.  Blanchard):   Sit 
down,  Mrs.  Blanchard. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  No,  thank  you,  do  not  help 
me.  I  am  about  to  throw  it  away. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :    Throw  your  cane  away  ? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (With  a  light  in  her  eyes):  Yes, 
I  am  not  going  to  need  it  in  a  week  or  so. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  I  heard  of  a  woman  the  other 
day  who  dispensed  with  her  cane. 


EVER  YOUNG  107 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:    Who  was  it? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Nods  off  right):  That  golf 
champion,  what's  her  name,  she's  over  there — the  one 
with  the  burnt  V  on  her  chest — she  told  me 
all  about  a  case,  but,  dear  me,  I  never  can  remem 
ber  names. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  shall  have  to  ask  her  about  it. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Are  you  getting  stronger 
Mrs.  Blanchard! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  must  get  stronger.  I  am 
tired  of  depending  upon  a  cane.  Everywhere  I  go 
people  are  putting  themselves  out  to  be  polite  to  me. 
Men  help  me,  women  send  their  men  to  help  me, 
chauffeurs  help  me,  bell-boys  help  me,  waiters  help 
me,  debutantes  help  me — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Debutantes!  I  can  scarcely 
believe  it! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  The  debutantes  hop  around  me 
like  so  many  sand-flies — all  of  them  wanting  to  help 
me  walk.  I  feel  like  swatting  them  with  this  (shakes 
cane).  Their  politeness  to  my  infirmity  is  an  insult.  If 
they  would  only  be  rude! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Mrs.  Payne-Dexter  was  just 
complaining  that  they  were  too  rude. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :    Rude !    They  are ! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  If  they  are  rude  to  you  it  is  a 
compliment.  They  do  not  look  upon  you  as  old  and 
decrepid.  I  resent  their  solicitude.  In  a  day  or  two 
I  shall  throw  this  old  thing  away!  (She  tosses  the 
cane  aside.) 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     Mrs.  Blanchard! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:    It  is  no  idle  threat,  I  mean  it! 


108          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  But  you  told  me  you  had  used 
it  fifteen  years. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  So  I  have,  and  it  is  old  enough 
to  throw  away.  It  is  the  oldest  leg  I  have  and  it  is 
going  to  be  thrown  away. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Oldest? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     What  are  you  doubting? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  My  dear  Mrs.  Blanchard,  you 
just  said  your  cane  is  the  oldest  leg  you  have — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     So  it  is. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Humorously):  Mrs.  Dor 
chester  would  like  to  know  just  exactly  hozv  old  the 
others  are. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  The  others  are  just  exactly  not 
more  than  nine  months ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :     Nine  months  ! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Do  you  think  I  should  say 
ninety  years  ? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  Isn't  it  a  little  nearer  to  the 
truth  ? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Triumphantly):  But  it  is  not 
the  truth!  The  wonderful  truth  is  that  my  legs  are 
not  seventy-one  years  old,  they  are  not  more  than  nine 
months  old.  I  have  been  reading  an  amazing  book. 
(She  holds  book  up.) 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :     What  is  it  ? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Using  lorgenette):  Truth 
and  Youth. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  This  book  says  that  every  cell 
in  our  body  is  completely  new  every  nine  months. 

MRS.     DORCHESTER:     I     heard     about     that.     My 


EVER  YOUNG  109 

daughter  was  reading  a  book  about  that,  I  forget  what 
it  was  called. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Each  cell  reproduces  itself  ac 
cording  to  the  impression  given  to  it  by  our  subcon 
scious  mind.  As  we  grow  old  we  hold  a  thought  of 
age  and  impress  the  cells  with  that  thought,  but  if  we 
rid  ourselves  of  the  illusion  of  old  age  we  can  remain 
ever  young. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Let  me  have  this  book.  I 
would  pay  a  fortune  for  youth. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  We  do  not  have  to  pay  for 
youth.  We  just  have  to  think  it  and  be  it.  It  is  very 
simple  they  say,  when  you  have  faith. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  What  was  that  book  my 
daughter  was  reading — dear,  dear,  I  never  can  remem 
ber  names,  and  titles  and  numbers! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Too  much  wool,  Agnes,  I 
tell  you  you  are  growing  old — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     She  does  not  look  it. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Her  mind  is  one  hundred 
and  fifty  years  old! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Good-naturedly):  Not  quite. 
I  have  had  too  many  financial  matters  to  attend  to  since 
my  husband  died  to  let  me  slip  too  far  behind  the 
times,  but  I  believe  in  accepting  old  age  with  as  good 
a  grace  as  possible. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Rubbish!  That  is  antedilu 
vian!  I  am  just  beginning  to  learn  how  to  live.  Do 
you  know  I  have  just  obtained  my  divorce? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Have  you  divorced  Mr. 
Blanchard,  after  all  these  years? 


110          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Yes,  after  all  these  years.  I 
suppose  you  know  the  story  of  my  life.  It  was  nation 
ally  commented  upon  when  my  daughter  married  the 
Duke  of  Caubreigh. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  My  St.  Louis  friends  often 
mentioned  you,  that  is  why  I  was  so  interested  in 
meeting  you  here  this  season.  When  my  husband  was 
alive  he  used  to  hear  things  at  the  clubs. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  No  doubt  he  did.  My  husband 
has  been  notoriously  unfaithful  to  me.  I  grieved  about 
it  for  more  than  forty  years  and  I  never  had  the  sense 
to  get  rid  of  him.  Never  had  the  courage  until  now 
— but  now,  it  is  all  as  clear  as  day  to  me — •  If  I  have 
been  a  fool  for  forty  years  must  I  stay  a  fool  forever  ? 
No,  I  kicked  over  the  traces,  with  my  wooden  leg — and 
I  am  a  free  woman. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  How  odd,  to  think  of  your 
wilfully  giving  up  your  husband  when  we  widows  so 
wish  ours  back  again. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Did  your  husband  contest 
it? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  My  husband  was  amazed,  in 
dignant — he  writes  me  imploring  letters.  He  is  old 
now  and  ready  to  settle  down.  Now,  when  he  is 
ready  to  sit  before  the  fireplace  and  watch  me  knit, 
I  have  played  a  trick  on  him — I  am  not  ready  to  sit 
before  the  fireplace  and  I  would  rather  play  roulette 
than  knit.  By  the  way  I  gambled  three  hundred  dpl- 
lars  away  last  night. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     We  left  early. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     That  is,  at  midnight. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     We  rode  around  a  bit  before 


EVER  YOUNG  111 

coming  in.  It  was  so  balmy  and  I  just  love  to  ride 
in  the  chairs. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  I  suppose  it  was  not  quite 
the  thing  for  two  lone  women  to  ride  around  in  the 
moonlight  at  midnight,  but  the  colored  boy  said  every 
one  does  it  at  Palm  Beach. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     It  was  very  romantic. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  There  is  romance  in  every 
breeze  through  the  palm  trees. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Gaily):  I  didn't  come  back  to 
the  hotel  until  morning.  I  stayed  on  and  played,  had 
breakfast  there — came  home  without  a  ring  on  my 
finger — handed  them  over  as  security  to  a  friend  who 
thought  it  funny  to  take  them — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  We  missed  you  on  the  beach 
this  morning. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  slept  until  luncheon.  I  am 
going  back  to-night  to  win  my  rings  again.  (She 
dangles  a  gold  bag  stuffed  with  bills.)  Starting  with 
five  hundred  to-night. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Before  you  know  it  you 
will  have  gambled  a  fortune  away! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Laughs):  I'm  not  worrying. 
I  receive  an  amazing  high  alimony.  The  court 
figured  that  I  would  not  live  long  and  that  I  needed 
much  medical  care.  Well,  I  am  not  paying  out  any 
money  for  medical  care  and  when  it  conies  to  having 
a  good  time  I  am  making  up  for  forty  years!  I 
found  only  one  man  in  my  whole  life  whom  I  really 
loved  and  he  was  not  my  husband.  (Hastily.)  Be 
shocked  if  you  want  to — I  am  free  now  and  can  speak 
of  it. 


112          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     What  happened? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  have  never  known  what  be 
came  of  him. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  I  can't  imagine  what  it  must 
be  not  to  love  one's  husband.  I  miss  mine  so ! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  had  been  married  only  four 
months  when  I  heard  of  my  husband's  infatuation 
for  a  married  woman  in  our  own  set.  He  had  mar 
ried  me  only,  it  seems,  to  allay  suspicion.  Of  course, 
I  see  now  that  I  should  have  divorced  him  then  and 
there,  but  I  was  very  young  and  it  wasn't  being  done 
in  those  days.  In  those  hours  of  my  disillusion  a 
dashing  young  lieutenant  understood  my  despair  and 
planned  to  arouse  my  husband's  jealousy  and  so  bring 
him  back  to  me — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Phoebe,  stop  fuddling  with 
your  door-key.  It  gets  on  my  nerves. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  He  succeeded  in  arousing  my 
husband's  jealousy  but  meanwhile  I  had  fallen  in 
love  with  the  lieutenant — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  And  he  with  you  no 
doubt  ? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     Yes. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Mrs.  Blanchard,  it  is  a  life- 
tragedy,  but  not  a  line  of  it  shows  in  your  face. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  wouldn't  let  it  show  in  my 
face.  I  harbored  a  secret  thought — a  terrible 
thought  that  my  husband  might  die,  that  I  might  be 
free  to  find  the  other  again,  that  then  he  should  not 
see  an  old  wrinkled  face  after  he  had  cherished  the 
memory  of  my  youth. 

MRS.    PAYNE-DEXTER:     Think   of   living   like  that 


EVER  YOUNG  113 

all  these  years  when  you  might  have  had  a  divorce 
long  ago. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  It's  humorous  in  a  way,  isn't 
it?  That  when  women  like  you  and  Mrs.  Dorchester 
are  widowed,  I  had  to  put  up  with  a  husband  who 
just  wouldn't  die? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  What  became  of  the  lieu 
tenant  ? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  He  asked  to  be  transferred  to 
another  post.  He  wanted  to  go  as  far  away  from 
me  as  possible — no  distance  seemed  far  enough  to 
break  the  magnetic  attraction  between  us.  Finally  he 
was  sent  as  far  away  as  China,  and  there  we  lost 
track  of  him  in  the  Boxer  rebellion. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  And  you  never  heard  from 
him  again? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  No.  The  Government  re 
ported  him  as  missing.  No  doubt  the  Chinese  took 
him  prisoner.  If  he  died— and  I  think  he  must  have 
died— all  these  years  I  have  imagined  that  he  died— 
I  have  felt  his  spirit  near  me— guiding  me— watching 

over  me — • 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Shaking  her  head):  Do  you 
believe  he  could  be  near  you?  I  don't  believe  that 
my  husband  is.  I  sit  and  knit  and  think  of  him,  but 
the  beyond  seems  nothing  but  void  and  silence. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Practically):  Well,  I  be 
lieve  in  believing  anything  that  helps  you. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Shaking  head):  I  can't  get 
into  communication. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Hopefully):  Oh!  I  know 
Oliver  Trent  has  never  forgotten  me.  If  he  had  lived 


114          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

or  escaped,  Oliver  would  have  found  me.  I  know 
Oliver  died  and  that  his  spirit  has  been  lovingly  near 
me  these  twenty  years ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  My  husband  and  I  loved  each 
other  deeply.  That  love,  it  seems  to  me,  should  hold 
us  together  even  after  he  has  gone,  but  I  can't  believe 
that  it  does. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  It  does  and  it  will,  if  you  have 
faith.  There  is  nothing  but  love — I  am  beginning  to 
feel  it — for  a  long  while  I  tried  to  make  myself  be 
lieve  it — for  a  long  while  I  could  only  think,  but  now 
I  am  beginning  to  feel  it — deep  within  me  to  realize 
it! — and  I  feel  warm  all  through.  Oh,  I  shall  put 
aside  my  ancient  legs !  (She  flings  the  cane  aside.) 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Of  course,  he  loved  you — 
I  am  sure  he  did. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  If  he  were  only  alive  now 
that  you  have  your  divorce. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  So  you  see  my  romance  is  only 
a  shadow — only  a  thought — there  is  nothing  tangible — 
I  dared  keep  no  letters,  not  one  single  token  of  his — 
only  my  thoughts,  but  those  thoughts  have  kept  me 
from  going  to  pieces  all  these  years. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  And  the  thoughts  have 
kept  your  face  so  young. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  I  would  not  let  my  face  change 
— if  by  some  miracle  I  should  see  him  again  I  must 
be  as  he  remembered  me — but  I  couldn't  control  my 
body  as  well — I  seemed  to  get  wearier  and  wearier  of 
life  until  I  needed  a  cane  to  lean  on — and  then  I 
doubled  up  on  that  and  here  I  am — 


EVER  YOUNG  115 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  And  here  you  are  threaten 
ing  to  walk  without  it. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Brightening):  I  will  too,  I 
will.  I  only  sadden  when  I  begin  to  think  of  the 
past.  It's  a  bad  habit.  I  shall  not  do  it  any  more. 
Only  if  I  could  be  sure  he  died  with  just  me  in  his 
heart,  I  wouldn't  mind  so  much  his  not  being  alive. 
If  I  knew  that  all  these  years  it  has  been  he  guiding 
me  and  not  my  imagination  and  self-deception,  that 
he  is  near  me  all  the  time — if  I  could  but  know  that. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  I  should  certainly  continue 
to  believe  that  he  remembered  me. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Consolingly):  I  am  sure  he 
did. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Shakes  her  head):  I  built  my 
life  upon  my  faith  in  him — if  I  should  be  robbed  of 
this  belief  in  his  love  for  me — I  think  it  would — kill 
me. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  But  if  you  could  have 
proof  of  his  love — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (With  shining  eyes):  Oh!  If  I 
could  have  proof. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Looking  off  stage) :  There's 
that  beautiful  Mrs.  Courtney-Page.  I  should  like  to 
know  her  better.  Shall  we  invite  her  to  sit  with  us? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:    Who  is  she? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  The  white-haired  woman 
in  white  velvet  carrying  a  black  fan.  She  is  just 
coming  out  of  mourning  for  her  last  husband. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Last!  How  many  did  she 
have? 


116          A  BOOR  CF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  The  manicurist  told  me 
she  had  three — and  the  clerk  in  the  jewel  shop  told 
me  only  one,  they  were  appraising  her  pearls — she 
has  such  marvelous  pearls — I'd  love  to  see  her  pearls 
close  by — wouldn't  you? — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Amused) :  Oh !  yes,  do  invite 
her  over — I'd  like  to  exchange  data  about  husbands. 
Is  she  down  here  alone? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  They  say  she  came  alone 
— but  I've  noticed  her  on  the  beach  with  one  man, 
and  in  a  wheel-chair  with  another — she's  alone  now 
though  and  evidently  looking  for  a  place  to  sit — call 
her  over,  Agnes. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Timidly):  But  I  don't  know 
her.  Phoebe,  you  call  her. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Don't  you  know  her,  Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter  ? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  I  might  pretend  to.  How 
do  you  do.  (She  bows  amiably.) 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  (Enters  from  right.  She 
is  white-haired  and  about  sixty,  but  she  has  dash  in 
her  manner  and  her  figure  is  stunning  in  a  white  vel 
vet  evening  goivn.  She  is  the  type  that  can  be  a 
vampire  at  any  age.  The  gozvn  has  the  medieval 
charm  of  long  sleeves  although  it  is  very  low  at  the 
throat.  Her  jewels  are  pearls,  ropes  of  pearls.  She 
carries  a  black  feather  fan,  a  black  velvet  bag,  and  a 
batch  of  mail  among  which  is  a  black  rimmed  letter.) 
How  do  you  do — You  must  pardon  me,  I  don't  recall 
the  name? 

MRS.     PAYNE-DEXTER:     Mrs.     Payne-Dexter,     of 


EVER  YOUNG  117 

New  York.  Don't  tell  me,  Mrs.  Courtney-Page,  that 
you  have  forgotten  me. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  (With  poise):  Oh!  yes- 
Mrs.  Payne-Dexter — a  name  so  well  known — we  met, 
I  remember,  exactly  five  years  ago  at  the  opera.  Your 
box  was  next  to  the  Carrolls'.  We  were  their  guests 
one  evening  when  my  late  husband  and  I  were  in  New 
York  on  a  wedding  trip. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Why,  yes,  of  course,  how 
clever  of  you  to  remember.  My  friends,  Mrs.  Dor 
chester,  Mrs.  Blanchard — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  How  do  you  do — won't  you 
sit  down? 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE:  Yes,  thank  you.  (She 
sits.)  I  have  noticed  you,  Mrs.  Blanchard.  Your 
cane?  (She  picks  it  up  and  courteously  hands  it  to 
Mrs.  Blanchard.) 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Courteously  taking  it  as  an  evi 
dence  of  courteous  consideration):  Thank  you. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Mrs.  Dorchester  and  I 
have  been  spending  the  season  in  Palm  Beach.  Mrs. 
Dorchester  is  a  native  of  Long  Island. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  And  I  came  down  from  St. 
Louis  and  had  the  good  fortune  to  become  acquainted 
with  them,  personally.  I  have  always  known  Mrs. 
Payne-Dexter  by  reputation. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Blanchard  of  St.  Louis. 
The  name  is  very  familiar — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  My  daughter  married  the  Duke 
of  Caubreigh — 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  Oh!  yes — yes — but  just 
lately — it  seems  to  me  I  saw  that  name  lately. 


118          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  No  doubt  you  did.  I  am  cele 
brating  my  divorce ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  I  think  she  has  a  great  deal 
of  courage  to  face  the  world  alone — voluntarily. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  It  is  rejuvenating  to  feel  so 
marvelously  free! 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  She  is  quite  right.  Why 
should  a  woman  remain  in  bondage  when  there  is  at 
every  turn  a  new  chance  for  a  better  alliance! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Good  gracious!  Do  you  be 
lieve  me  capable  of  marrying  again  at  my  age? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Why  not?  A  woman  can 
marry  any  man  she  wants. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Mildly) :  Oh !  The  man  may 
get  the  woman  he  wants,  Henry  kept  insisting  until 
I  married  him,  but  I  don't  think  it's  the  other  way 
round ;  do  you,  Phoebe  ? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Dominating  manner):  I 
don't  know.  I  worked  very  hard  for  Thomas  but  I 
got  him. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  I  haven't  an  opinion.  The  one 
/  wanted  I  met  only  when  it  was  too  late. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  What  do  you  mean  by  too 
late? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  After  I  was  married  to  some 
one  else. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  But  now  you  are  di 
vorced — • 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Oh!  it's  too  late  now.  My 
romance  was  over  twenty  years  ago. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Do  you  really  think  a  woman 
can  marry  any  man  she  wants? 


EVER  YOUNG  119 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  I've  proved  it.  I  was 
engaged  three  times,  married  once,  once  widowed,  and 
now  I  have  another  fiance.  Isn't  that  a  proof? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Suavely):  You  are,  if  you  will 
pardon  my  frankness,  a  very  handsome  woman,  Mrs. 
Courtney-Page.  Such  attractions  would  not  require 
much  further  effort  on  your  part. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Thank  you,  but  there  is  a 
science  about  attracting  love  as  there  is  about  every 
thing  else.  There  hasn't  been  a  moment  of  my  life 
when  I  haven't  been  in  love. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Rather  snortingly):  That's 
impossible!  There  aren't  enough  people  in  the  world 
for  that! 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  (With  real  tenderness): 
Oh !  yes  there  are — as  long  as  you  hold  the  thought  of 
love,  you  will  find  those  you  can  love — and  as  long  as 
you  love  you  will  attract  it  in  return. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Where  is  your  home  now, 
Mrs.  Courtney-Page? 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  Chicago,  but  I  was  born 
in  San  Francisco.  I  was  Emily  Tardon. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Emily  Tardon!  You  don't 
mean  it !  Are  you  really !  Why,  it  just  seems  yester 
day  when  all  the  magazines  were  full  of  your  photo 
graphs,  the  most  beautiful  debutante  on  the  western 
coast ! 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  They  did  make  a  fuss 
about  it  when  I  became  engaged  to  Harlow  Bingham 
— I  was  only  eighteen  then.  When  I  look  back  and 
think  what  a  brilliant  career  I  might  have  had  with 
Harlow— well— you  know  he  died—  (she  sighs)— be- 


120          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

fore  we  were  married — an  accident — horse-racing. 
Poor  Harlow,  he  gave  me  my  fir-st  pearls.  (She  un 
consciously  plays  with  a  strand  of  pearls,) 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     Magnificent  pearls! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Using  lorgnette):  I  have 
scarcely  been  able  to  keep  my  eyes  off  of  them. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  This  strand — the  shortest 
and  smallest — was  given  to  me  by  Harlow  Bingham 
upon  our  engagement.  He  gave  me  a  solitaire  too, 
but  the  pearls  were  a  gift  of  thanks  because  I  had 
given  up  the  desire  to  go  on  the  stage  to  marry  him. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Oh,  did  you  want  to  be  an 
actress  ? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  I  have  wanted  nothing 
more  all  of  my  life. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  You  would  have  made  a  good 
one  too. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  My  family  opposed  me 
as  all  families  do. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     They  did  in  those  days. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  So  I  had  to  give  up  the 
idea  of  acting  on  the  stage.  (But  it  is  evident  that 
she  has  been  acting  in  real  life  ever  since.) 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (In  a  whisper,  looking  down 
right):  Look,  look,  that's  the  man  who  tried  to 
flirt  with  me  the  other  day  at  the  the  tea  dance  in 
the  Grove. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :     Don't  you  know  who  that 


is  r 


MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     No. 

MRS.     COURTNEY-PAGE:     That's    Beverly    Strawn, 
our  best  seller  novelist. 


EVER  YOUNG  121 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Gracious!  Hide  me!  He 
must  have  been  picking  me  out  for  the  dowager 
mother-in-law  in  his  next  novel — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Did  you  marry  Mr.  Courtney- 
Page  after  Mr. — what's  his  name  died —  Your  first 
fiance  ? 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  No.  I  became  engaged 
to  Philip  Harlow,  an  Englishman,  I  met  in  Egypt. 
He  was  on  his  way  to  South  Africa.  He  had  been 
in  diplomatic  service  in  India  and  had  been  trans 
ferred.  He  brought  me  this  second  strand — the 
second  largest  and  longest — from  India.  He  went 
ahead  to  South  Africa  to  prepare  a  home  intending 
to  come  back  for  me,  but  he  died  of  fever — and  we — 
were  never  married. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     How  thrillingly  tragic! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     I  could  not  have  endured  it. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  And  the  other  strands — 
you  have  two  more — 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  This  third  one  was  the 
gift  of  my  husband,  Mr.  Courtney-Page.  I  would 
not  let  him  give  them  to  me  until  after  we  were  mar 
ried. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  That  was  a  wise  precaution. 
They  say  pearls  mean  tears. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  It  is  surprising  that  he 
risked  giving  you  pearls  at  all. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  He  felt  he  had  to  because 
he  was  jealous  of  the  others — of  course,  I  couldn't 
throw  the  others  away — they  were  so  beautiful  and 
so  costly — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     Naturally  not. 


122          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  So  he  finally  purchased  a 
strand  in  Vienna — larger  and  longer  than  the  other. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:     And  then  did  he  die  too? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Oh!  no,  Mr.  Courtney- 
Page  was  the  third  man  I  was  engaged  to,  but  the 
only  one  I  married.  He  died  scarcely  a  year  ago. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Takes  some  digestive  tablets 
out  of  her  bag  and  offers  them):  Will  you  have  a 
life-preserver?  I  ate  something  to-night  that  didn't 
quite  agree  with  me.  (She  takes  one.) 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Takes  one):     Thank  you. 

MRS.    DORCHESTER    (Offering):     Mrs.    Blanchard? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  No,  thanks,  I  don't  need  them 
any  more  since  I  am  taking  the  new  diet. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     What  is  your  new  diet? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Silently  offers  Mrs.  Courtney- 
Page,  who  takes  one.) 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Nuts,  fruit,  no  meat,  no  bread, 
no  hot  vegetables,  no  coffee,  no  tea— 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  Have  you  stopped  eating  alto 
gether  ? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  Only  fruit  and  nuts — I  feel  as 
light  as  a  feather — in  another  day  I  shall  walk  and 
throw  away  this  stick ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTF.R:  You  said  in  another  week  you 
would  throw  it  away. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  Now  be  careful,  don't  take 
risks ! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  The  book  says  we  must  not 
have  negatives  in  our  mind.  I  tell  you  that  if  I  can 
have  enough  faith  I  shall  walk  alone! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :     Oh  !  the  book. 


EVER  YOUNG  123 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Handing  book  to  Mrs.  Payne- 
Defter):  Truth  and  Youth. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Reading  from  book  at 
random):  "The  average  man  and  woman  of  middle 
age  chooses  a  comfortable  chair  and  settles  down  into 
it  with  the  thought  that  life  is  finished  and  it  is  neces 
sary  to  await  the  end.  Women  do  this  more  than 
men.  When  women  see  their  little  children  grown  to 
manhood  and  independent  of  them,  they  feel  that 
their  use  in  life  is  over.  Nothing  is  more  untrue. 
The  grandmother  is  a  free — " 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Interrupting  as  she  glances  off 
down  left):  Just  a  moment,  Phoebe,  excuse  me,  but 
what  did  you  say  was  the  name  of  the  woman  in  jet — 
walking  with  the  aviator — did  she  fly  down  with  him 
from  New  York? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  That's  Hilda  Dane,  one 
of  the  Follies.  They  say  she  has  her  skin  insured 
when  she's  on  the  beach. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  :  I  have  never  seen  her  skin. 
She  paints  it  up  with  whitewash  and  her  lips  are  thick 
with  red  paint.  Yesterday  on  the  beach  she  wore  a 
lemon  colored  woolen  cape  with  a  big  sable  collar 
and  every  diamond  that  has  ever  been  given  to  her. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Is  she  married  to  the  aviator? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Going  back  to  her  book): 
Don't  ask  absurd  questions,  Agnes.  "The  grand 
mother  is  a  free  woman,  she  has  a  new  youth.  She 
has  the  vision  of  experience  with  which  to  experiment 
for  greater  wisdom — "  Ah,  Agnes,  you  must  read 
this  book — it  will  stir  you  up — your  very  mind  is 
getting  to  be  like  wool. 


124          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Amused):  I  have  always  been 
more  domestic  than  you,  Phoebe. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Domestic!  Haven't  I  done 
my  share?  Haven't  I  run  a  house  in  New  York,  a 
house  in  Newport,  a  house  in  London,  apartments  in 
Paris,  I  even  had  a  palace  one  season  in  Venice — no, 
it  is  not  domesticity  that  is  making  you  old,  it  is 
mental  lethargy! 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  That  is  the  worst  enemy 
to  youth,  mental  lethargy,  I  refuse  to  have  it! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Mrs.  Dorchester  doesn't 
live  for  herself  any  more.  When  she  is  at  home,  she 
is  a  slave  to  her  grandchildren,  when  she  is  away  she 
can  scarcely  take  time  from  the  wool  to  look  at  a 
cocoanut  grove. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Looking  away):  Oh,  I  can 
knit  without  looking. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  I  am  more  selfish.  I  let 
my  children  and  grandchildren  alone.  As  long  as 
they  are  not  starving,  it  is  no  business  of  mine  to  live 
for  them.  I  do  not  spend  my  evenings  knitting  baby- 
socks.  I  have  my  opera  box,  I  give  dinner  parties 
and  entertain  distinguished  foreign  visitors.  I  have 
my  club  committees,  my  charities,  and  I  am  studying 
art  so  as  to  be  able  to  add  to  my  husband's  collection 
of  paintings — as  a  memorial  to  him — and  I  am  taking 
up  Spanish  because  I  am  planning  to  spend  next  sea 
son  in  Buenos  Aires.  But  you,  Agnes,  you  make 
your  children  dependent  upon  you — you  are  always 
nursing  some  grandchild  through  something. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  But  when  they  are  ill,  I  must 
help  them. 


EVER  YOUNG  125 

MRS.  PA YNE- DEXTER  :  You  think  you  must  and 
they  let  you  think  it  because  they  don't  want  to  hurt 
your  feelings  by  letting  you  know  they  don't  need 
you.  You  take  care  of  a  grandchild  so  its  own 
mother  can  go  and  play  bridge,  you  save  your  son  a 
nurse's  bill  while  he  spends  the  money  playing  polo  at 
the  country  club. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  But  it  isn't  a  happy  thought 
not  to  be  needed. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  You  were  telling  us  about 
your  pearls,  Mrs.  Courtney-Page.  It  is  an  exquisite 
pleasure  to  look  at  them. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  This  fourth  strand,  the 
largest  and  longest,  is  the  gift  of  my  new  fiance.  I 
am  down  here  waiting  for  time  to  pass — we  shall  be 
married  as  soon  as  it  seems  correct. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Dear  me  (She  looks  off 
down  left),  there's  Mrs.  Wallace  Morse  in  another 
gown — and  as  usual  no  petticoat. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Well,  I  think  she  does 
wear  one ! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Aren't  you  lucky  to  find  a 
fiance  again!  I  am  afraid  I  couldn't  bring  myself 
to  care  for  any  man  as  much  as  I  have  cared  for  one 
in  the  past. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Nor  I. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Hump!  Men  aren't  worth 
bothering  about. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  I  was  so  lost  without 
marriage  companionship  that  when  I  was  in  Paris  last 
autumn,  I  picked  out  the  most  eligible  man  I  could 


126          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

find.  He  is  quite  old,  but  very  nice  and  has  valuable 
mines  in  Australia. 

MRS.   PAYNE-DEXTER:     Is  he  a  Frenchman? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  No,  an  American,  but  he 
hasn't  been  in  this  country  since  he  was  sent  to  the 
American  Legation  in  China.  He  has  had  an  excit 
ing  life.  He  was  taken  prisoner  in  the  Boxer  rebel 
lion  and  was  reported  missing  for  years,  but  a  faith 
ful  Chinese  servant  smuggled  him  to  Australia. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Begins  to  tremble  with  premo 
nition — her  hands  quiver  as  they  clutch  her  cane): 
Your  fiance,  his  name — • 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Oliver  Trent — president 
of  the  Australia  Mining  Company  of — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (With  a  gasp  of  anguish  looses 
her  hold  on  the  cane;  it  falls  unheeded  to  the  floor): 
Oliver  Trent — you  said  Oliver  Trent? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Blandly):  Why — wasn't  that 
the  name  of  the  man  you  loved — wasn't  that  the 
name,  Phoebe? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  The  man,  Mrs.  Blanchard 
— I  don't  understand — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Trying  to  relieve  the  situa 
tion):  Mrs.  Blanchard  had  been  telling  us  about  a 
friend  of  hers  who  had  been  lost  in  the  Boxer  rebel 
lion.  She  thought  he  had  died.  No  doubt  it  is  a 
consolation  to  her  to  know  that  he  still  lives, 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Wilted  and  old-looking  an£ 
ivith  an  effort):  No,  Mrs.  Courtney-Page,  I  can 
scarcely  bear  the  fact  that  he  still  lives.  I  have  held 
him  in  my  heart  as  one  dead  for  twenty  years.  I 
have  lived  on  the  thought  that  he  loved  me.  He  loved 


EVER  YOUNG  127 

me  once,  but  I  know  now  that  men  can  not  be  true. 
When  he  went  to  China  he  put  me  out  of  his  mind 
forever.  He  has  forgotten  me — for  younger  and 
handsomer  women. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Hump!  I  wouldn't  let  it 
worry  me.  Men  are  not  worth  such  life-long  adora 
tion.  You  look  about  and  some  one  else — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Gently):  Perhaps,  Mrs.  Court 
ney-Page  will  give  him  up,  if  we  tell  her  what  he 
means  to  you. 

MRS.  BLANCIIARD  (Fiercely):  I  want  my  own — 
not  what  is  cast  off — 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  (Drazving  her  chair  closer  to 
Mrs.  Blanchard  and  speaking  gently) :  You  want  me 
to  give  him  up?  (She  fondles  the  largest  strand  of 
pearls  reluctantly.)  It  would  be  hard  for  me  to  do — 
It  wasn't  easy  to  win  him.  I  had  to  use  all  the  art 
I  have  learned  in  past  experience  to  get  him.  He  has 
never  been  married  and  is  a  little  afraid — but  I  won 
him — if  I  give  him  up,  are  you  sure  he  would  remem 
ber  you? 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (In  anguish  of  spirit  but  under 
control):  No.  Do  not  trouble.  I  shall  have  to  bear 
it.  I — I  feel  quite  blind — as  if  I  had  been  struck  on 
the  head — but  maybe  it  is  just  my  heart.  You  see  he 
and  I  were  very  much  in  love,  but  I  was  married  and 
he  had  to  go  away.  He  promised  not  to  forget.  But 
he  was  young  and — and  maybe  I  shouldn't  have  be 
lieved  him.  When  I  never  heard  again  and  the  Gov 
ernment  reported  him  missing,  every  one  said  he  must 
be  dead.  That  last  day  before  he  went,  I  met  him 
clandestinely  in  the  Park.  I  cut  off  a  bit  of  my  hair 


128          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

that  day.  It  was  golden  then,  like  golden  amber  he 
said,  and  he  put  it  into  an  amber  locket  he  wore  on 
his  watch  charm. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Drops  her  knitting  needles  and 
lets  her  wool  roll  to  the  floor):  I  remember,  I  re 
member,  amber  locket — from  a  watch  charm — I  have 
it  here — I've  had  it  twenty  years — made  into  a  brace 
let  (She  takes  off  bracelet).  My  son  brought  it  home 
from  the  Philippines — it  was  given  to  him  by  a 
Chinese  servant — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (In  extreme  excitement):  The 
locket — 

MRS.   COURTNEY- PAGE  :     A   Chinese  servant — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Yes,  the  very  one  you  said 
rescued  him.  I  remember  it  all  now.  How  stupid 
of  me  not  to  think  of  it  before,  but  as  Phoebe  says, 
my  mind's  all  wool — that  Chinese  servant — 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:    Yes — yes — go  on! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Speedily):  You  know  the 
Boxers  stormed  the  Legation — he  fought  desperately 
and  valiantly,  the  Chinese  servant  described  all  that — 
how  he  was  taken  prisoner  and  tortured  so  he  almost 
lost  his  mind.  At  night  he  raved  in  delirium.  He 
called  a  woman's  name,  but  there  was  no  one  of  that 
name  in  the  Legation, — my  son  told  me  but  I  have 
such  a  wretched  memory  for  names — but  it  wasn't  a 
real  name  that  one  could  identify — it  must  have  been 
a  nickname — • 

MRS.   BLANCHARD:     Was  it  Dee-dee? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Pouncingly):  Dee-dee,  Dee- 
dee,  that's  what  it  was!  Oh!  my  stupid  head! 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Pathetically) :     It  meant  "dear." 


EVER  YOUNG  129 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Lovingly  at  Mrs.  Dorchester 
with  increasing  suspense):  Why  have  you  kept  this 
from  us  all  this  time? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Gaining  assurance):  How 
could  I  know  my  son's  story  was  about  Mrs.  Blanchard 
until  she  mentioned  the  watch  charm? — but  now  it  all 
comes  back  to  me — at  night  in  delirium  he  called  this 
name — how  he  loved  this  woman — he  took  the  watch 
charm  and  opened  it  and  kissed  the  blonde  lock  of 
hair,  and  he  treasured  it  as  nothing  else  he  had.  He 
treasured  it  so  highly  that  he  gave  it  to  his  Chinese 
servant  to  keep  for  him — for  fear  they  would  rob 
him  cf  it.  They  took  his  money  and  everything  else 
he  had  but  the  servant  kept  the  amber  safely — but — 
but— 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Wrapt  attention):  But  then 
how  did  you  forget  it? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :  That's  just  it — I'll  tell  you 
how  it  was —  Oh!  my  stupid  memory.  Phoebe,  stop 
fiddling  with  your  door  key,  you  distract  me —  The 
amber — the  Chinese  servant  smuggled  him  into  a 
boat — » 

MRS.  BLANCHARD:  Who  was  smuggled  into  the 
boat? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Mr.  What's  his  name — your — 

MRS.   BLANCHARD:     Oliver  Trent — • 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Yes,  into  the  boat — and  in  the 
excitement  of  concealing  him  behind  some  kegs — the 
ship  began  to  move  and  the  Chinese  servant  had  to 
run  to  get  off  and  in  running  he  forgot  to  give  up 
the  amber  watch  charm — and  so  he  kept  it — he  kept 
it  as  a  talisman  and  a  few  years  later  when  he  served 


130          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

my  son  in  the  Philippines,  he  gave  it  to  him  as  a 
talisman  when  my  son  was  very  ill  with  fever — and 
my  son  became  superstitious  about  it  and  had  it  set 
into  a  bracelet  for  me  as  my  protection — now,  I  shall 
give  it  to  you — for  it  is  your  talisman,  Mrs.  Blanchard, 
a  talisman  of  his  undying  love. 

(Mrs.  Blanchard  is  incapable  of  speech,  but  she 
takes  the  bracelet  in  both  hands  and  raises  it  to  her 
lips ;  a  light  of  inspiration  comes  into  her  eyes.) 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  And  that  is  why  I  had 
such  difficulty  making  him  care  for  me.  He  told  me 
about  his  first  love — he  spoke  of  her  as  Dee-dee  and 
he  told  me  that  when  he  lost  the  amber — he  felt  that 
she  had  gone  out  of  his  life  forever — he  said  that  she 
was  married  and  it  was  unlawful  for  him  to  think  of 
her — but  he  has  never  forgotten — he  told  me  he  would 
love  her  always — and  when  I  tell  him  of  you,  Mrs. 
Blanchard,  he  will  come  to  you  at  once,  for  you  have 
been  right — his  love  has  been  yours  and  is  yours  still. 
I  think  you  ought  to  have  these  pearls. 

MRS.  BLANCHARD  (Her  eyes  illumined,  her  bod\ 
stronger) :  Oh !  no,  thank  you — I  don't  want  them — 
I — I — have  this.  (She  holds  the  locket  in  her  two 
hands  and  rises;  forgetting  her  cane.)  Excuse  me, 
ladies,  if  I  go  to  my  room — I — I  have  had  my  answer 
out  of  the  silence — and  I'm  a  little — unstrung.  (She 
walks  out  right  with  great  dignity  and  composure,  a 
grand  dame  in  manner  even  in  her  ecstasy  and  the 
light  in  her  eyes  is  a  triumph  of  youth.) 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (Looking  after  her  in  awe): 
Without  her  cane ! 

MRS.   COURTNEY- PAGE :     Don't  remind  her! 


EVER  YOUNG  131 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Sighing):  Poor  dear — poor 
dear — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Was  that  all  true  what  you 
said,  Agnes?  I  never  heard  you  talk  so  fast  in  all 
your  life — and  how  you  suddenly  got  such  memory! 
You  never  told  me  anything  about  that  amber  charm 
and  you've  worn  it  forever,  seems  to  me ! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Father  gave  it  to  me  my 
twenty-first  birthday  to  save  a  lock  of  my  blonde  hair. 
I  risked  the  chance  that  mine  was  a  duplicate  of  hers. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     And  all  you  said  was  a  lie? 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  It  doesn't  matter.  We 
shall  make  it  true. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :  But  when  she  finds  out  that 
you  have  deceived  her — 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  She  will  never  find  out. 
I  shall  warn  him  to  hide  away  his  amber  watch  charm. 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     Does  he  still  wear  it? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Yes;  and  many  other 
charms,  from  other  loves — They  say  he  has  been  a 
great  beau — 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:     The  outrageous  flirt! 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Poor  dear  Mrs.  Blanchard.  I 
thought  she  would  die — I  was  afraid  she  was  dying — 
I  had  to  say  something  to  bring  her  to. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  But  what  have  you  gained 
by  these  lies? 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:     Does  she  not  walk? 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  (With  awe):  Yes,  it  is  a 
miracle. 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  Merely  a  miracle  of  the 
realization  of  love — 


132          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  But  it  is  built  on  a  false 
belief.  He  has  not  been  true  to  her. 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  :  Mrs.  Payne-Dexter,  I  have 
never  questioned  the  reality  of  any  one's  love  for  me. 
That  which  counts  is,  after  all,  only  that  which  is  in 
our  own  hearts.  If  Mrs.  Blanchard  is  convinced  of 
his  love — that  is  all  that  is  really  necessary. 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER  :     But  when  you  marry  him — 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE:  I  shall  not  marry  him — I 
shall  only  keep  the  pearls — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:     But  if  you  love  him — • 

MRS.  COURTNEY-PAGE  :  Well  as  for  that — I,  al 
ways,  can  find  some  one  else — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  :     Gracious,  my  wool  is  a  mess ! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  You'd  better  give  up  knit 
ting,  Agnes,  and  turn  to  story-writing — you've  quite 
surprised  me  with  your  sudden  brilliancy.  Bell-boy, 
you  may  have  these  glasses — 

MRS.  DORCHESTER:  Your  diamond,  platinum  lorg 
nette  ! 

MRS.  PAYNE-DEXTER:  Hump!  do  you  think  / 
have  to  manufacture  a  love-affair  to  help  me  get  rid 
of  my  glasses? 

MRS.  DORCHESTER  (Scarcely  able  to  grasp  the 
idea):  She  walked  without  her  cane! 

MRS.  COURTNEY- PAGE  (With  a  sentimental  smile): 
Oh !  to  stay  young,  one  must  love. 

CURTAIN 


PROPERTY  OF 
DEPAKTKEHT  OF  DRAMATIC  ART 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO" 

By 
CLAUDIA  LUCAS  HARRIS 


CLAUDIA  LUCAS  HARRIS 

Mrs.  Harris  was  born  in  Iowa  and  went  on  the 
stage  when  a  child,  continuing  in  that  work  until 
seven  years  ago,  when  she  opened  the  Harris  Studio 
of  Dramatic  Art  in  Indianapolis.  She  has  written  a 
number  of  one-act  plays,  and  two  dramas  which  have 
been  played  professionally — The  Sporting  Passion  and 
At  the  Month  of  the  Mine — also  a  number  of  plays 
for  children:  Jack  in  the  Pulpit,  Spring  and  Young 
Mr.  Santa  Clans,  which  latter  have  been  successfully 
acted  in  Indianapolis. 

Mrs.  Harris  is  a  charming  reader  of  plays  and 
monologues,  and  presents  very  attractive  programs. 
She  has  directed  very  successfully  the  work  of  the 
Little  Theatre  Society  in  Indianapolis.  She  is  now 
a  resident  of  Pittsburgh. 

THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO" 

Frequently  the  one-act  play  depicts,  in  charming 
fashion,  the  life  and  manners  of  simple  folk. 

The  Man  Who  Couldn't  Say  "No"  is  only  an  epi 
sode  in  the  life  of  a  failure,  but  it  portrays  character 
in  an  unusual  way.  These  people  really  live  for  us. 
The  slow  easy  style  here  is  altogether  in  keeping  with 
Joe  and  his  attitude  toward  life. 

(Applications  to  produce  The  Man  Who  Couldn't  Say 
"No"  should  be  addressed  to  Mrs.  James  Harris,  3318  Car- 
rollton  Avenue,  Indianapolis.) 

134 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T 
SAY  "NO" 

THE  PRESENT.     Winter.     Sunday  in  a  small  town. 
PLACE:    Settin'-room  in  Joe  Stebbins'  home. 

PEOPLE 

JOE  STEBBINS     .     .     a  harness  maker, — the  "failure" 

ABNER  ELLIS his  old-time  friend 

MUM Joe's  crippled  mother 

HALLIE an  orphan 

EDDIE Joe's  little  son 

(Joe  and  Abner  are  playing  checkers  at  a  table  L.  C. 
Mum  sits  in  her  new  wheeled  chair  by  the  windoiv  R. 
Hallie  is  heard  clearing  away  the  dishes  in  the  din 
ing-room'  L.  and  singing  snatches  of  old  hymn  tunes 
in  a  fresh  happy  voice.  Eddie  is  watching  the  game 
from  the  back  of  the  table. 

(Ab  has  Joe  covered.  Joe  has  one  king  in  a  corner 
where  he  can  move  only  one  way.  Ab  is  closing  in 
on  him  with  his  several  kings.) 

EDDIE  (Excitedly):  Jump  'im,  paw!  Jump  'im! 
Don't  ye  see? 

JOE  (Good-naturedly):  Yes,  son,  I  see.  But  I 
don't  see  as  'twould  do  me  no  good  to  jump  'im  seein' 
as  how  he'd  jump  me  right  back  again. 

AB  (Chuckling) :  Guess  I  got  ye,  Joe.  You're  done. 
Your  little  king  ain't  got  no  parade  ground  to  exercise 
in  no  more. 

135 


136          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JOE  (With  a  mock  sigh):  The  game's  your'n,  Ab- 
ner.  (Abner  marks  it  in  note-book.) 

AB  :  That  makes  three.  I'm  a-goin'  to  skunk  you 
this  time! 

JOE:  Skunk  away  if  ye  kin.  But  you  ain't  done 
it  to  me  yit. 

EDDIE  :  Huh !  ?F  I  couldn't  play  checkers  no 
better'n  you  can,  paw,  I'd  go  soak  m'  head! 

AB  :  Run  away,-  Buddy.  I  reckon  yer  Pa'd  git 
along  jest  as  well  'thout  your  advice  an'  counsel. 

JOE:  Oh,  he  don't  bother  none.  Pore  little  chap! 
Sunday's  a  lonesome  day  fer  a  little  feller.  (Tries 
to  stroke  Eddie's  hair  while  Abner  is  re-setting  the 
board — the  boy  ungraciously  ducks  and  sivaggers  up 
stage  whistling.) 

HALLIE  (Calls  from  dining-room):  Come  in,  Eddie, 
and  help  me  with  the  dishes,  there's  a  good  boy! 

EDDIE:  Aw,  whad'ye  take  me  for?  I  ain't  a-goin' 
to  do  no  girl's  work.  (Exits  whistling  into  dining- 
room.) 

JOE  (Chuckling) :  Hear  that  ?  Ain't  no  sissy  about 
that  boy! 

AB  (Dryly):  Nor  they  ain't  no  sissy — likewise 
they  ain't  nothin'  good  to  be  said  fer  'im  neither. 
He's  spoiled,  Joe,  jest  spoiled,  that's  what  he  is. 

JOE:  I  'low  I  do  spoil  him  considerable — but  you 
know  how  I  feel  about  the  pore  motherless  little 
feller.  He  ain't  to  blame.  It's  my  fault,  I  reckon — 
but — ever  sence  his  maw  left  us — I  ain't  had  the 
heart  to  punish  him  fer  nothin'. 

AB:  Ye're  too  easy,  Joe,  that's  what's  the  matter 
with  you.  It's  been  yer  besettin'  sin  all  yer  life; 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     137 

that's  why  you  ain't  never  made  no  more  of  a  success 
of  yer  harness-makin'  business.  Jes'  cos  you  was  so 
iurned  easy  ye  trusted  ever'  Tom,  Dick  and  Harry 
who  come  in  an'  asked  ye.  An'  now,  yer  business 
fallin'  off  on  account  o'  these  here  motors  bein'  used 
fer  everything,  ye  never  will  'mount  to  shucks. 

JOE:  Mebbe  not,  Abner,  mebbe  not.  Anyways,  I 
reckon  I  kin  hang  on  till  I  raise  an'  eddicate 
the  boy.  They's  this  here  place  fer  him — all  clear. 
Aside  from  that,  he'll  haf  to  shift  fer  himself  after 
I'm  gone. 

AB:  Ye'd  V  had  more  if  ye  hadn't  allus  been  so 
dog-gone  easy.  I've  knowed  you,  Joel  Stebbins, 
sence  we  was  kids  together  an'  I  never  yit  knowed 
you  to  hev  the  courage  to  say  "no"  t'  nobody. 

JOE  :  I  reckon  I've  got  along  as  well  as  most  folks. 
We  live  comf'table — with  an  occasional  luxury — like 
Mum's  new  wheel-chair. 

AB  :     An'  she  ain't  crazy  'out  it,  neither. 

JOE:  Oh,  well,  pore  ole  lady,  she'll  like  it  better 
when  she  gits  used  to  it.  It  only  come  las'  week. 

AB:  You  can't  tell  me  Mum'll  ever  adm't  likin' 
anything  as  well  as  her  ole  wooden  rocker. 

JOE:  Well,  bein'  old  an'  crippled  up  fer  ten  er 
fifteen  year'  don't  calkilate  to  sweeten  no  one's  dispo 
sition.  It's  yore  move,  Abner. 

MUM  (Looking  up  from  her  Bible):  Air  you  two 
fool  boys  still  gamblin'? 

JOE:  Yes,  Mum.  Ab's  skinned  me  three  times 
an'  claims  he's  a-goin*  to  skunk  me  this'n. 

MUM  :  Well,  ye  don't  desarve  to  win — gamblin'  on 
the  Lord's  Day.  Goodness  knows,  Joel,  I  tried  to 


138          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

raise  you  a  Christian  but  it  don't  seem  as  if  my  lickin's 
took  no  good  effect. 

JOE  (Chuckling):  No,  Mum,  I  allus  was  a  bad 
egg.  I  reckon  they  ain't  nothin'  kin  save  me  from 
everlastin'  damnation.  (Ab  and  he  chuckle.) 

MUM  (Indignantly):  Ain't  nothin'  to  laff  at  as  I 
kin  see.  'Twon't  be  so  funny,  Abner  Ellis,  when 
you're  seethin'  in  fire  an'  brimstun — payin'  up  fer  yer 
meannesses  hyar  on  airth. 

AB  :  I  know,  Mum.  I  wasn't  lafifin'  at  what  you 
thought.  I  was  laffin'  'cause  I  got  Joe  in  a  cornder 
and  he  can't  see  no  way  out  of  it. 

MUM  (Plaintively):  My  talkin'  don't  do  no  good. 
The  seeds  fall  on  stony  ground.  No  one  can  say  I 
didn't  warn  ye! 

AB  :  They  sure  can't.  You  be'n  a  human  finger 
post  longer'n  I  kin  remember — pointin'  out  the  road 
they  was  goin'  to  most  o'  the  folks  around  here. 

JOE:  Don't  tease  her,  Ab.  She's  old  an'  a  leetle 
childish,  pore  ole  soul.  She  ain't  got  long  t'  stay. 

AB:  She  stayed  long  enough  to  fix  your  life  fer 
ye,  Joe.  If  it  hadn't  be'n  fer  her — 

JOE  (With  a  glance  toward  Mum):     Sh! 

HALLIE  (Enters):  Uncle  Joe,  Mis'  Hanna's  at  the 
back  door  and  wants  to  borrow  some  coffee  fer  dinner. 

JOE:  Well,  give  her  some,  Hallie.  You  know  it's 
all  right  with  me. 

HALLIE:  I  didn't  know  what  to  say — they's  only 
enough  for  our  breakfast,  and  the  stores  won't  be 
open  that  early. 

JOE:     Well,  let  'er  have  it.     We  kin  drink  tea — or 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     139 

do  without.  She's  a  pore  widder  an'  mebbe  needs  it 
more'n  we  do. 

HALLIE  :    All  right.    Just  as  you  say.    (Exits. ) 

AB:  Fer  the  land's  sake,  Joe  Stebbins,  ef  you 
ain't— 

MUM:     What'd  she  want?     What'd  Hallie  want? 

JOE  :  Oh,  nothin'  much,  Mum.  Jes'  one  o'  the 
neighbors  wanted  to  borry  somethin'. 

MUM  :  Well,  she  can't  hev  it  whatever  'tis.  We're 
jes'  run  to  death  'ith  neighbors.  Borry,  borry,  borry! 
An'  never  dream  o'  payin'  back.  You'll  let  me  end 
my  days  in  the  pore-house  yit. 

JOE:  Oh,  guess  not,  Mum.  We're  a  long  ways 
from  the  pore-house.  Paupers  don't  git  no  new  wheel 
chairs  like  you  got  las'  week.  (Jumps  three  men 
more.)  That's  one  time  I  slipped  one  over  on  ye, 
Abner.  (Rubs  his  hands  and  chuckles  while  Ab 
runs  his  stubby  fingers  through  his  hair  and  wonders 
how  it  happened.) 

MUM  :  Humph !  This  blame  contraption  '11  be 
the  death  o'  me  yit.  Never  kin  tell  when  it'll  start 
a-rollin'  and  throw  me  out  an'  break  m'  neck.  'Tain't 
half  so  comfortable  as  my  old  rocker. 

AB:  'Tain't?  Joe,  Mum  wants  her  rocker.  L's 
git  it  an'  put  her  back  in  it  an'  set  that  no-'count 
veelocipede  out  on  the  porch.  (Starts  up.) 

MUM:  You  set  right  still,  Ab  Ellis.  Joe  got  this 
fer  me  an'  I  ain't  goin'  to  be  so  ongrateful  as  not  to 
use  it  ef  it  does  nearly  kill  me  to  set  in  it  an'  if  I  am 
skeered  t'  death  of  it. 

AB     (Reseating     himself     and     chuckling):       She 


140          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

wouldn't  give  up  that  comftable  wheel-chair  fer  a 
farm! 

JOE:  Oh,  well,  ole  folks  is  queer.  King,  Ab! 
Crown  him!  (Hallie  comes  galloping  in — Eddie 
driving  her  by  her  apron  strings.) 

EDDIE  (Hits  her) :     Giddap,  giddap ! 

HALLIE  (Stopping):  Whoa!    (Above  table.) 

EDDIE  :  Giddap !  giddap !  (Whips  her  ivith  stick 
he  carries.) 

HALLIE:     Keep  still  a  minute,  Eddie. 

EDDIE:     Well,  go  on,  then. 

JOE  :     Don't  be  so  rough,  Eddie. 

HALLIE:  Uncle  Joe,  there's  a  man  at  the  back 
door — a  tramp,  I  guess,  says  he's  hungry. 

JOE:  (Absorbed  in  game):  Give  him  somethin' 
t'  eat,  honey.  You  know  I  don't  never  turn  no  one 
away  hongry. 

HALLIE:  But  there's  only  some  mashed  taters  left 
— and  I  was  countin'  on  them  fer  tater  cakes  to 
morrow.  We  et  all  the  ham. 

JOE  :  Give  him  the  pertaters.  We  kin  go  'thout — 
or  cook  some  more.  Ain't  they  none  of  the  ham  left? 

HALLIE  :     Nope. 

JOE:  Fix  up  what  ye  kin.  Pore  feller,  I  expect 
he  needs  food  wusser'n  we  do.  Make  him  some 
coffee,  Hallie. 

HALLIE  :  Th'  ain't  none.  Mis'  Hanna  borrowed 
it. 

JOE:  Oh,  yes,  that's  so.  Well,  give  'im  a  cup  o' 
tea  or  somethin'.  Anything  we've  got. 

HALLIE:    All  right. 

EDDIE  (Hits  her):     Giddap,  giddap! 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     141 

HALLIE:     Eddie,  behave!     (They  exit.) 

AB:  Now,  Joe,  if  ye'd  V  killed  th'  ole  hen  ye 
planned  to  hev  for  dinner  they'd  V  be'n  plenty  to 
feed  yer  tramp. 

JOE:  I  suppose  so.  I'd  oughta  killed  her.  Pore 
ole  thing !  But  I  felt  so  sorry  f er  her — cluckin'  away 
— with  all  her  chicks  took  from  her — that  when  I 
went  out  to  ketch  her  an'  wring  her  neck, — I  jes' 
didn't  have  the  heart.  Smoke,  Abner?  (Gets  up — 
gets  can  of  tobacco  from  shelf  up  back  of  stove.  They 
fill  pipes.  Smoke  and  play,  Mum  coughs.  Fans  her 
self  with  handkerchief.  Abner,  unnoticed  by  Joe, 
blows  smoke  her  way.) 

AB  (Referring  to  move  he  has  just  made):  I 
guess  that'll  hold  you  fer  a  while.  Ye're  so  fresh 
with  yer  denied  ole  king. 

MUM    (Fanning):     Pesky  ole  stinkin'   pipes! 

JOE  (Looking  up) :  What's  the  matter,  Mum  ?  Too 
strong  fer  you?  Well,  we'll  quit.  (Pipe  aside.) 

MUM  :  Never  mind.  Don't  quit  on  my  account. 
I'd  leave  the  room  ef  I  could — but  I  can't  do  nothin' 
but  set  like  a  dratted  Chinese  idol.  (Coughs.) 

AB  (Smoking):  Turn  the  wheel,  Mum.  You  kin 
go  wherever  you  want. 

MUM  :     Eh  ? 

AB:     Turn  the  steeriir  wheel. 

MUM  :  I'm  too  old  to  learn  new  tricks.  I  wasn't 
cut  out  for  a  chuffer.  I  be'n  helpless  fer  eleven  years 
an'  I  reckon  I'll  continue  so  t'  the  day  o'  my  death. 

JOE:     Want  to  go  to  your  room,  Mum?     (Rising.) 

MUM  :  I  reckon  I've  set  an'  watched  you  gamblers 
on  the  Lord's  Day  an'  inhaled  yer  smellin'  ole  pipes 


142          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

long  'nough.  (Joe  goes  to  move  her.)  Let  be!  Let 
be!  Where's  that  girl? 

JOE  (Goes  up  L.,  calls):  Hallie,  Hallie.  Mum 
wants  you. 

HALLIE  (Enters  wiping  her  arms):  What  is  it, 
Mum? 

MUM  :  Take  me  into  my  room,  Hallie.  These 
men  air  a-gamblin'  an'  a-carryin'  on.  They'll  be 
drinkin'  next.  (Hallie  zvheels  her  grumbling  into 
room  C.) 

AB  (Referring  to  Hallie):  There's  a  good  little 
gal. 

JOE  (Resuming  game):  She  sure  is.  Just  like  a 
little  sunbeam  round  the  house.  It  was  a 
lucky  day  fer  me  when  I  tuk  that  little  orphan  in 
my  house. 

AB  (Joking):  Jes'  cause  you  "felt  sorry  fer  the 
pore  little  thing"  when  her  maw  died. 

JOE  :  She  needed  a  home.  Never  had  no  paw,  I 
guess,  no  one  seemed  to  want  her  so,  nacherally,  I 
tuk  her. 

AB  :     Nacherally. 

JOE  :  Don't  be  sourcastic,  Abner.  I  didn't  get  sold 
that  time.  I  dunno  what  I'd  do  'thout  her. 

AB:  Yes,  she  was  a  good  investment.  But  it'd  'a' 
been  the  same  if  she  hadn't.  You  wouldn't  'a'  been 
no  wiser.  Mr.  E.  Z.  Mark.  That's  what  your  name 
ought  'a'  been,  Joe. 

JOE:  Now,  Abner,  jes'  'cause  we're  sich  old 
frien's — 

AB:  I'm  privileged  to  roast  you.  That's  what 
friend*  is  fer,  ain't  they,  to  pint  out  yer  faults? 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     143 

JOE:  If  that's  so,  Ab,  you  sure  been  a  good  friend 
to  me. 

AB  :  My  lord,  you  need  it !  You  make  me  so  durn 
mad,  Joe — so  durn  mad — that  sometimes  I'm  jest 
hoppin'. 

JOE:  Go  on  hoppin',  Ab.  No  one  minds  it.  'S 
your  move.  (Eddie  conies  in  and  gets  in  his  father's 
way — leaning  languidly  against  his  arm.) 

EDDIE:     Paw,  I  wanna  go  skatin'.     Paw,  can't  I? 

JOE:  Not  to-day,  buddy.  Sun's  too  warm.  I'm 
'fraid  'tain't  safe. 

EDDIE  :     Aw — paw. 

JOE:  Move  around  the  table,  son;  you're  crowdin' 
paw's  arm. 

EDDIE  (Moves  to  back  of  table.  Whining):  Aw, 
paw,  why  can't  I? 

JOE:     'Tain't  safe. 

EDDIE:     Jilly  Baker's  paw's  let  him  go. 

AB  (Cornering  Joe):  Now  whatcha  goin'  to  do? 
(Joe  studies  deeply.) 

EDDIE:     Paw — can't  I — huh? 

JOE:     Don't  tease,  sonny. 

EDDIE:  Well,  can't  I— paw?  Huh?  can't  I?  Oh, 
pl-e-ease — paw. 

AB:     Your  paw  said  "no."     Let  that  settle  it. 

EDDIE:     You  shet  yer  mouth.     'Tain't  your  put  in. 

AB:  'Tain't,  eh?  I'll  show  ye.  (Makes  a  grab 
for  Eddie  who  eludes  him  to  R.  In  the  scume  the 
checker-board  is  disarranged).  Now  you  played 
hell!  You  dog-goned  little  aggravatin'  scamp!  If 
I's  yer  paw  I'd  lam  the  life  out  o'  you! 

EDDIE  (Dancing  and  wriggling  fingers  to  his  nose): 


144          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

You  ain't  my  paw,  see?  You  ain't  my  paw.  What- 
cha  goin'  to  do  about  it? 

AB  (Sitting) :  You  come  pesterin'  'round  here  again 
an'  I'll  show  ye ! 

EDDIE  :     Ho,  yes,  you  will ! 

JOE:  Eddie,  now — behave  yourself.  This  is  the 
Sabbath  Day.  (They  reset  the  checkers.)  I  reckon 
we'll  hev  to  start  fresh,  Abner. 

EDDIE  (On  the  back  of  Joe's  chair):  Paw,  why 
can't  I  go  skatin'? 

JOE  :     I  told  ye. 

EDDIE  (Blubbering):  But  why  can't  I?  Tain't  no 
fun  setting'  'round  the  house  all  day? 

JOE:     Your  move,  Ab.     Keep  still,  Eddie. 

EDDIE  :  Jest  a  lettle  while,  paw.  I  won't  go  fur 
from  the  shore.  I'll  be  jes'  as  careful.  Can't  I,  paw, 
huh? 

JOE  (Looking  speculatively  out  of  the  window): 
Well,  now— I— 

EDDIE  (With  renewed  animation):  Jest  fer  ten 
minutes?  Huh?  (To  R.  of  Joe.) 

JOE  :  Well,  now,  I  dunno.  (Looks  reflectively  at 
Eddie.) 

AB:  If  'tain't  safe,  Joe,  tell  him  no  an'  be  done 
with  it.  (Eddie  makes  a  face  at  Ab.) 

JOE:  Oh,  I  don't  ezzactly  know  it  ain't  safe.  The 
sun's  pretty  warm  to-day — 

EDDIE  (At  window):    The  other  boys  is  skatin'.. 

JOE  :  Well,  run  on  fer  a  little  while.  Bundle  up 
good — an'  be  careful. 

EDDIE  (Cheerfully):  I  will,  paw.  (Up  to  luill  tree 
—puts  on  cap  and  coat.) 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     145 

JOE  (Over  his  shoulder):  Put  yer  muffler  'round 
yer  neck  and  pull  yer  cap  down  good  over  yer  ears. 

EDDIE:  All  right,  I  will.  (Goes  out  slamming  the 
door.) 

As  (Gets  up — hands  in  pockets  and  stalks.) 

JOE:     What's  the  matter?    Tired? 

AB:  No,  I  ain't  tired — playin'.  But  I  am  tired 
playin'  with  such  a  durn  fool!  I  be'n  a-comin'  here 
Sundays  to  play  checkers  with  you  fer  five  years — 
ever  since  yer  wife  run  away  and  lef '  you ;  and  ever' 
durn  Sunday  it's  be'n  the  same  thing.  You  don't  put 
yer  mind  on  the  game — lettin'  folks  pull  an'  haul  ye 
this  way  an'  that!  Joe  Stebbins,  can't  ye  never  say 
"no"  to  nobody  ? 

JOE  :     W'y,  I  reckon  I  could — but  I  don't  usually. 

AB  (Sarcastically):  No,  you  don't  usually.  The 
kid  an'  that  ole  woman — 

JOE  :     Sh,  Abner,  Mum'll  hear  you ! 

AB:  I  don't  keer  a  cuss  who  hears  me!  Pull  an' 
haul  ye  aroun'  by  the  nose !  The  neighbors  impose  on 
ye  an'  laff  at  ye  behin'  yer  back !  'Cause  ye're  so 
cussed  easy — so  dog-gone  "sorry"  for  ever'thing !  Oh, 
you — you — make  me  sick  !  (Stalks  to  the  window  and 
stands  looking  out.) 

JOE  (Up):  I'm  sorry,  Abner;  if  I  affect  you  like 
that  I  shouldn't  think  ye'd  come  nigh  me  no  more. 

AB  (Wheeling):  But  you  know  I  will.  I'll  keep 
on  a-comin'  ever'  Sunday  till  one  er  other  of  us  is  tuk. 
I  like  ye,  Joe — you're  m'  best  friend,  but,  my  God, 
you  do  make  me  so  mad!  (Tramps  L.) 

JOE  (Getting  tobacco  and  laughing) :  Aw,  come  on. 
Fill  up  yer  pipe  again  an'  le's  hev  another  game. 


146          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(Comes  down  and  puts  his  hand  on  Ab's  shoulder.) 
I'll  mind  my  knittin'  this  time — honest  I  will. 

AB  (Sits  grumbling):  That  kid'll  break  yer  heart 
yit,  Joe — lettin'  him  run  over  you  the  way  you  do. 

JOE  (Sits):  I  guess  my  heart's  pretty  tough.  It's 
stood  a  good  lot  o'  strainin'. 

AB:  But  some  day  she's  all  the  apter  to  go  pop 
'count  o'  th'  strainin'  she's  had. 

JOE:  I  thought  it  was  goin'  to  go  pop  sure,  pard- 
ner,  that  time — when  she — when  June — left. 

AB:  Five  years  ago  las'  week.  (Sigh.)  'T  'uz 
yer  own  fault,  Joe. 

JOE  :     What  could  I  'a'  done  ? 

AB  :  You  could  'a'  done  what  she  wanted  ye  to — 
pulled  up  stakes  an'  went  away  to  a  big  town  where 
they'd  'a'  been  a  chancet  fer  ye  to  make  somethin'  of 
yerself. 

JOE:     What'd  I  'a'  done  with  Mum? 

AB:     Took  her  with  you — 

JOE  :     But  she  wouldn't  go. 

AB:  If  she  wouldn't  go  with  you  and  June,  let  her 
set  an'  sulk  it  out.  T  wouldn't  'a'  hurt  her  none. 
She'd  'a'  been  took  care  of. 

JOE  :  No,  I  couldn't  'a'  done  that — an'  her  helpless 
an'  all. 

AB:  No,  you  couldn't  leave  her.  Instead  you  let 
yer  young  wife  fret  herself  mos'  to  death — shet  up 
here  with  a  cantankerous  ole  woman  an'  a  squallin'  kid 
tel  she  jest  couldn't  stand  it  no  longer. 

JOE  :     It  was  her  duty  to  me. 

AB  :  An'  what  about  your  duty  to  her  ?  With  some 
girls  it'd  'a*  been  all  right,  but  June  was  different. 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     147 

She  didn't  belong  here  in  this  little  one-hoss  town.  She 
was  meant  for  other  things — she  was  capable — she 
could  'a'  helped  you  make  somethin'  of  yourself  somers 
else. 

JOE  :  Poor  soul !  I  ain't  blamin'  her  none.  I  know 
I  wasn't  a  fit  mate  for  her,  so  soft  an'  pretty  an'  gay. 
'Twas  like  yokin'  up  a  little  Shetlan'  pony  an'  a  big 
farm-hoss  to  the  same  plough.  Still,  she  hadn't  ought 
'a'  done  what  she  did  to  me  an'  the  boy — 

AB  :  She  didn't  leave  ye  f  er  no  other  man, 
did  she? 

JOE  :     No,  she  never  done  that. 

AB:  No!  She  just  left  because  she  couldn't  stand 
it  no  longer.  That  ole  woman's  naggin' — an'  settin' 
the  boy  up  to  all  sorts  of  meanness — 

JOE  :    Abner,  Mum's  old,  an'  she  can't  walk — 

AB  :  I  ain't  sayin'  she  ain't  ole,  but  it's  my  private 
opinion  publicly  expressed  that  she  could  'a'  walked 
years  ago  if  she'd  tried. 

JOE  :  Abner,  ain't  that  kinda  un-Christian.  You 
don't  think  Mum'd  pertend — 

AB:  I  don't  think  she's  pertendin'  now.  But  it's 
dollars  to  doughnuts  pertendin*  had  a  lot  to  do  with 
makin'  her  as  helpless  as  she  is  now.  You  know 
yourself  Doc  Sellers  never  could  understand  why  she 
couldn't  walk  after  her  leg  got  healed. 

JOE:  Doc  Sellers  never  was  a  very  kind-hearted 
man.  Allus  short  an'  crabbed. 

AB:  Mebbeso,  but  he  ain't  no  fool  when  it  comes 
to  human  nature,  an'  I  know  he  was  puzzled  some  in 
Mum's  case. 

JOE  :     He  never  hinted  to  me — 


148          A  BOOK  OF  ONE- ACT  PLAYS 

AB:  He  wouldn't,  knowin'  it'd  only  hurl  yer 
feelin's.  (Distant  cries  off  R.) 

JOE:  Well,  le's  drop  it,  Abner.  Mum  may  have 
her  faults  but  we  got  to  make  allowances.  Let's  have 
another  game.  (They  seat  themselves.) 

AB  (Apologetically):  I  can't  help  gittin'  he't  up 
when  I  see  how  her  an'  that  kid  puts  it  over  on  you, 
you  pore  ole  easy-goin'  goose,  ye!  'F  I  didn't  like 
ye  so  durn  well  I  wouldn't  say  a  word.  You  know 
that,  don't  ye? 

JOE  (Grinning):  Shore.  It's  all  right,  Abner.  I 
know  I'm  a  dunce,  so  we'll  call  it  square.  (They  set 
the  board.)  All  done  with  the -dishes,  honey?  (Hallie 
comes  in  from  L.,  her  kitchen  apron  removed — and 
crosses  to  the  iinndow.) 

HALLIE:  Yes,  Uncle  Joe,  fer  to-day.  Sunday's  a 
fine  day  fer  me — only  have  to  wash  'em  twicet. 

JOE  :  Pore  women !  Seems  selfish  in  us  men  to  take 
a  day's  rest  when  they  never  seem  to  git  to. 

AB:  'S  good  fer  'em,  Joe.  Keep's  'em  out  o'  mis 
chief  to  be  busy.  Don't  it,  Hallie? 

HALLIE  :  I  reckon.  Still  I  don't  think  a  day  off  now 
and  then  would  hurt  anybody. 

JOE  :  Course  it  wouldn't.  Uncle  Abner's  just  pokin' 
fun.  He  ain't  no  tyrant.  He  voted  fer  women's  suf 
frage. 

HALLIE  (Surprised) :    Did  ye  ? 

AB  :  G'wan  now !  Course  I  didn't.  I  don't  want 
no  petticoat  gover'ment  over  me. 

JOE:  Ye  don't?  I  betchye,  Ab,  if  we  had  a  woman 
marshal  you'd  be  gittin'  locked  up  Dncet  a  week  jest 
fer  the  fun  of  havin'  her  'rest  ye. 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     149 

AB  (Indignantly):  Nothin'  o'  the  sort.  'Sides  no 
woman  could  arrest  nobody.  They'd  be  like  you — too 
"sorry  fer  the  pore  feller."  (Chuckles.) 

HALLIE  (Hotly):  Uncle  Joe's  good.  He's  really 
sorry  when  he  says  he  is.  He's  the  best  man  on 
earth. 

AB  (Applauds):  Votes  fer  Women!  Votes  fer 
Women!  Hooray!  Ye're  some  little  champeen, 
Hallie. 

JOE  :  That's  right,  Hallie ;  don't  ye  let  no  one  pan 
yer  Uncle  Joe. 

HALLIE  (Defiantly) :  Don't  intend  to.  (Gets  wraps.) 
I'm  a-goin'  over  to  Wallace's  fer  a  spell. 

JOE:  All  right,  Hallie.  Move.  Ix>ok  out  fer  that 
man,  Abner.  (Hallie  exits  R.) 

AB:  I'm  a-lookin'  out.  I  like  to  git  a  rise  out  o' 
that  kid.  She's  shore  loyal  to  you. 

JOE:  Bless  her  little  heart.  She's  a  good  child. 
(Gets  up  to  get  a  match — glances  out  of  the  window 
on  his  return.)  What's  all  the  excitement  ? 

AB:    Where? 

JOE:  Down  by  the  crick.  Looks  like  they's  some 
thing  happened. 

HALLIE  (Rushes  in) :  Uncle  Joe !  Uncle  Joe !  Some 
one's  drownded ! 

AB  AND  JOE:     Drownded?     Who? 

HALLIE  :  Oh,  I  don't  know.  (Crying.)  I  thought 
I  heard  'em  say — 

JOE  (Up,  takes  her  by  shoulder):  Ye  heard  what! 
-Hallie! 

HALLIE  :  Oh,  Uncle  Joe,  come !  come,  quick !  (Runs 
out.) 


150          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JOE:  Great  God — Eddie!  (Rushes  out — Ab  yocs 
up  and  grabs  wraps  and  after  him.) 

AB  :  Here,  Joe !  Joe !  Here,  wait !  It  can't  be  him  ! 
(Takes  Joe's  hat  and  coat  and  his  own  and  goes  out 
leaving  the  door  open.) 

MUM  (Calls  from  her  room):  Hallie!  Hallie ! 
(Strikes  on  the  door  with  her  stick.)  Joe!  Joe! 
Where  air  ye  all  ?  (A  fumbling — the  door  opens.)  Joe, 
where  air  ye?  The  door's  open !  All  gone  an'  left  the 
door  open !  An'  lef '  me  t'  git  my  death  o'  cold.  What 
on  airth's  the  matter?  (Struggles  with  chair  and  fin 
ally  wheels  it  dozvn — shuts  door  with  stick — wheels  to 
window.)  Drat  the  thing!  What's  goin'  on?  Land, 
what  a  crowd  o'  folks.  (Hallie  rushes  in  leaving  door 
open  and  dashes  into  Mum's  room.) 

HALLIE  (Panting.  Tearing  blankets  off  bed) :  Ed 
die  fell  in  the  crick  !  They  just  got  him  out !  I  guess 
he's  drownded!  (Rushes  out  ivith  blankets  leaving  the 
door  open.) 

MUM  (Catching  the  excitement):  What?  What? 
I  can't  hear  a  word  you  say !  Land  sakes !  Shet  the 
door!  Have  ye  all  gone  crazy?  Now  how'm  I  goin'  t' 
git  this  infernal  contraption  turned  around  to  shet  that 
door?  Much  they  care  ef  I  git  my  death  o'  cold,  so 
long's  they're  com f 'table.  (Struggles  to  turn  chair. 
Hallie  enters,  then  Joe  with  Eddie  wrapped  in  blankets 
in  his  arms.  Abn'er  follows  aived  and  silent.  Hallie 
indicates  Mum's  room.) 

HALLIE  :  Lay  him  in  there.  I'll  get  some  hot  water. 
(Darts  into  dining-room.  Joe  takes  Eddie  into  Muni's 
room  and  lays  him  on  the  bed — a  group  of  neighbors 
zuho  have  followed  congregate  outside  the  door  and 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     151 

talk — a  feiu  edge  into  the  room.  The  milage  doc 
tor  bustles  through  the  crowd  putting  them  aside 
bruskly.) 

DOCTOR:  Now,  then!  Now,  then!  out  of  my  way! 
(Puts  them  out  closing  the  door — goes  into  room — puts 
Joe  kindly  but  firmly  out.  Abner  remains  in  Mum's 
room  with  doctor — the  door  is  closed — Joe  staggers 
wearily  down  to  right  of  the  table  and  sits  with  his 
head  on  his  arms.) 

MUM  (Who  has  been  fidgeting  and  frantic  with 
excitement):  What's  the  matter,  Joe?  Joe!  Air  ye 
all  crazy  ?  (Abner  enters  from  room — comes  down  and 
puts  his  hand  on  Joe's  shoulder — pats  it  a  few  times. 
There  is  a  silence.  Hallie  hurries  quietly  into  upper 
room,  closing  the  door  softly.) 

JOE  (Brokenly):  It  was  my  fault,  Abner!  All  my 
fault!  Oh,  my  God!  what'd  I  ever  let  him  go  fer? 
Why  can't  I  say  "no"?  I'm  so  weak!  It's  lost  me 
ever'thing  I  ever  had  on  airth. 

AB:  Not  ever'thing,  ole  friend.  (Joe  reaches  up 
and  clasps  the  hand  on  his  shoulder.)  Besides  we 
ain't  sure — Doc  may  fetch  him  around  all  right. 

JOE:  I  don't  darst  to  hope.  It's  jedgment  on  me, 
Abner.  I  had  it  comin'  to  me.  I  ain't  got 
no  hope. 

AB:  Now,  now,  now,  now!  Brace  up!  I'll  go 
see  how  things  is  gittin'  on.  Mebbe  I  kin  be  some  help. 
(Exits  blowing  nose  loudly.) 

JOE:  Oh,  my  God,  give  me  a  chance — give  me  a 
chance ! 

HALLIE  (Coming  from  room) :  He  ain't  dead !  His 
eyes  is  openin*.  (Runs  out  left.) 


152          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JOE:  Alive!  (Rushes  into  upper  room.)  Eddie! 
Eddie ! 

MUM  (Who  has  caught  a  glimpse  of  Hallie):  Hal- 
lie!  What  under  the  sun  is  the  matter,  I  ask  ye. 
(Abrier  enters.)  Hallie!  Abner  Ellis!  Ef  you  don't 
speak  up  an'  tell  me  I'll  wrop  this  stick  around  your 
shins  ef  it's  the  last  act  of  my  life !  (Threatens  him 
with  cane.) 

AB  (At  Mum's  left — shouting):  Eddie  broke 
through  the  ice! 

(Joe  enters  zvith  Eddie  in  a  blanket.  Sits  at  table 
rocking  him  and  murmuring  over  him — Hallie  enters 
and  speaks  with  doctor  in  room  up  R.) 

MUM  :     Mercy !     He  ain't  drownded,  is  he  ? 

AB  :   No !  (Goes  behind  and  a  little  to  left  of  table.) 

MUM  :  No  business  foolin'  on  the  ice  on  the  Lord's 
Day.  He'd  otighta  be  spanked.  What'd  ye  let  him 
go  fer,  Joe? 

JOE:  'Cause  I'm  a  fool,  Mum.  'Cause  I  couldn't 
say  "no." 

EDDIE  (Stirring  in  his  blankets — weakly) :     Paw ! 

JOE:  Yes,  honey.  What  does  paw's  pore  little 
feller  want? 

EDDIE:  Can't  I  never  go  skatin'  no  more  just  cause 
I  fell  in  an'  got  all  wet? 

JOE  (Holding  him  closer) :  Oh,  don't  talk  about  it, 
sonny. 

EDDIE  (Weak  but  persistent):    But  can't  I? 

JOE  :     No,  buddy,  not  fer  a  long,  long  time. 

EDDIE:     How  long?    T'-morrow? 

JOE:    No,  no! 


THE  MAN  WHO  COULDN'T  SAY  "NO"     153 

EDDIE  (Whimpering):  Jes'  fer  a  little  while — a 
little,  teeny  while?  Huh?  Paw,  can't  I? 

JOE  (Rocking  him) :  Sh  1  Sh  !  There,  there,  don't 
cry,  honey.  Paw'll  see!  (Abner  in  despair  turns  up 
his  collar — pulls  his  cap  over  his  ears  and  is  stalking 
toward  the  door  disgustedly  when  the  curtain  falls.) 

SECOND  CURTAIN  :  Hallie  is  letting  doctor  out  the 
door.  Joe  is  rocking  Eddie  oblivious  to  all  else.  Mum 
with  her  Bible. 


PROPERTY  OF 
OEPAITNERT  OF  DGANATIC  ARI 


THE    DEACON'S     HAT 

From  the  volume  of  Three  Welsh  Plays 

By 

JE ANNETTE    MARKS 


JEANETTE  MARKS 

Jeanette  Marks  received  her  A.  B.  and  A.  M.  de 
grees  from  Wellesley.  She  is  now  Professor  and 
Head  of  the  Department  of  English  Literature  at 
Mount  Holyoke.  Miss  Marks  is  well  known  not  only 
as  a  lecturer  and  teacher,  although  there  is  many  a 
student  who  keeps  as  among  her  most  cherished 
memories  the  hours  spent  in  Miss  Marks'  class  room, 
but  for  her  stories,  novels,  essays,  poems,  and  short 
plays  as  well. 

"Miss  Marks  knows  and  loves  children;  she  is  as 
good  a  playmate  as  she  is  a  story-teller.  Not  only  does 
she  know  how  to  write  serious  books  for  grown-ups ; 
many  a  youngster  has  read  The  Cheerful  Cricket  and 
Tommy  Beaver  Tails,  or  the  charming  story-told 
science  books  of  which  she  is  the  co-author." 

Besides  these  several  children's  books  and  work  for 
the  magazines,  Miss  Marks  has  published  English 
Pastoral  Drama,  Through  Welsh  Doorways,  a  volume 
of  short  stories ;  The  End  of  a  Song,  a  Welsh  novel ; 
Gallant  Little  Wales,  a  travel-book;  A  Girl's  Student 
Days  and  After  and  Vacation  Camping  for  Girls,  in 
which  she  gives  to  girls  the  knowledge  she  has  gained 
from  many  summers  of  "roughing  it";  Leviathan, 
Early  English  Hero  Tales,  Three  Welsh  Plays,  Chil 
dren  in  the  Wood  Stories,  Geoffrey's  Window,  and 
Willow  Pollen  (1921),  a  book  of  verse.  Miss  Marks 
will  publish  her  first  full  length  play  in  a  few  weeks, 
and  she  has  in  preparation  more  one-act  Welsh  plays. 

The  Welsh  plays  are  perhaps  the  best  known  of 
Miss  Marks'  work.  The  author  herself  tells  of  the 

156 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  157 

beginning  of  her  interest  in  Wales.  "I  saw  some  pic 
tures  of  North  Wales  and  the  instant  I  saw  these  pic 
tures  I  knew  that  I  was  going  there.  I  went,  and 
there  I  found  my  tongue  and  my  pen,  and  I  have  gone 
back  year  after  year  in  love  still  with  Wales  and  the 
joy  of  learning  how  to  write." 

The  original  Welsh  plays  took  the  Welsh  National 
Theatre  first  prize  in  1911,  and  have  been  published 
separately  and  in  many  collections ;  they  have  also 
been  used  as  a  text  for  study  in  many  school  and  col 
lege  class  rooms,  among  these  Amherst,  The  Uni 
versity  of  Texas,  The  University  of  Nebraska,  The 
University  of  Minnesota,  etc.  There  have  been  a 
large  number  of  productions  of  these  Welsh  plays  in 
the  United  States. 

THE  DEACON'S  HAT 

This  play  is  taken  from  a  volume  of  three  Welsh 
plays  by  Jeanette  Marks,  our  only  one-act  plays  repre 
senting  the  life  and  character  of  the  Welshman.  The 
characters  tell  subtle,  humorous  stories.  In  an  unusual 
situation  we  see  portrayed  here  the  wit  of  man  and 
woman  pitted  against  each  other.  And  probably  Neli 
would  have  won  had  not  the  deacon's  eloquence  for  a 
moment  overcome  her  native  shrewdness.  Shall  not 
"salvation"  win  over  "soap"  since  "there's  no  money 
in  theology"?  At  any  rate  the  reader  is  content  to 
leave  the  deacon  unvanquished. 

(Copyrighted.  Applications  to  produce  The  Deacon's  Hat 
should  be  addressed  to  the  author's  publishers,  Little,  Brown 
&  Company,  Boston,  Massachusetts.) 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT 


CHARACTERS 

DEACON  ROBERTS,  a  stout  oldish  Welshman. 

HUGH   WILLIAMS,   an   earnest   visionary   young   man 

who  owns  Y  Gegin. 
NELI  WILLIAMS,  his  capable  wife. 
MRS.  JONES,  THE  WASH,  a  stout  kindly  woman  who 

wishes  to  buy  soap. 
MRS.  JENKINS,  THE  MIDWIFE,  after  pins  for  her  latest 

baby. 
TOM  MORRIS,  THE  SHEEP,  who  comes  to  buy  tobacco 

and  remains  to  pray. 

SCENE  :  A  little  shop  called  Y  Gegin  (The  Kitchen) 
in  Bala,  North  Wales. 

TIME:     Monday  morning  at  half-past  eleven. 

To  the  right  is  the  counter  of  Y  Gegin,  set  out  zvith 
a  bountiful  supply  of  groceries;  behind  the  counter 
are  grocery-stocked  shelves.  Upon  the  counter  is  a 
good-sized  enamel-ware  bowl  filled  with  herring 
pickled  in  brine  and  leek,  also  a  basket  of  fresh  eggs, 
a  jar  of  pickles,  some  packages  of  codfish,  a  half-dozen 
loaves  of  bread,  a  big  round  cheese,  several  pounds  of 
butter  wrapped  in  print  paper,  etc.,  etc. 

To  the  left  are  a  cheerful  glowing  fire  and  ingle. 
158 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  159 

At  the  back  center  is  a  door;  between  the  door  and 
the  fire  stands  a  grandfather's  clock  with  a  shining 
brass  face.  Betivccn  the  clock  and  the  door,  back 
center,  is  a  small  tridarn  (Welsh  dresser)  and  a  chair. 
From  the  rafters  hang  flitches  of  bacon,  hams,  bunches 
of  onions,  herbs,  etc.  On  either  side  of  the  fireplace 
are  latticed  windows,  showing  a  glimpse  of  the  street. 
Before  the  fire  is  a  small,  round  three-legged  table, 
beside  it  a  tall  straight-backed  chair. 

Between  the  table  and  left  is  a  door  which  is  the 
entrance  to  Y  Gegin  and  from  which,  on  a  metal  elbozv, 
dangles  a  large  bell. 

At  rise  of  curtain  Hugh  Williams  enters  at  back 
center,  absorbed  in  reading  a  volume  of  Welsh  theo 
logical  essays.  He  is  dressed  in  a  brightly  striped 
vest,  a  short,  heavy  cloth  coat,  cut  away  in  front  and 
with  lapels  trimmed  with  brass  buttons,  swallowtails 
behind,  also  trimmed  with  brass  buttons,  stock  wound 
around  his  neck,  and  tight  trousers  doivn  to  his  boot 
tops. 

Neli  Williams,  his  wife,  a  comely,  capable  young 
woman,  busy  with  her  knitting  every  instant  she  talks, 
is  clad  in  her  market  costume,  a  scarlet  cloak  and  a 
tall  black  Welsh  beaver.  Over  her  arm  is  an  immense 
basket. 

NELI  (Commandingly) :  Hughie,  put  down  that 
book! 

HUGH  (Still  going  on  reading):  Haven't  I  just 
said  a  man  is  his  own  master,  whatever ! 

NELI:  Hughie,  ye're  to  mind  the  shop  while  I'm 
gone! 


160          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

HUGH  (Patiently):     Yiss,  yiss. 

NELI  :  I  don't  think  ye  hear  a  word  I  am  sayin* 
whatever. 

HUGH  :     Yiss,  I  hear  every  word  ye  Ye  sayin'. 

NELI:     What  is  it  then? 

HUGH  (Weakly):  'Tis  all  about— about—the— the 
weather  whatever! 

NELI  :  Ye've  not  heard  a  word,  an'  ye're  plannin' 
to  read  that  book  from  cover  to  cover,  I  can  see. 

HUGH  (A  little  too  quickly):  Nay,  I  have  no 
plans —  (He  tucks  book  away  in  back  coat  pocket 
over -hastily.) 

NELI  :     Hugh ! 

HUGH  (Weakly):     Nay,  I  have  no  plans  whatever! 

NELI  (Reproachfully) :  Hugh — ie !  Twould  be 
the  end  of  sellin'  any  thin'  to  anybody  if  I  leave  ye  with 
a  book  whatever!  Give  me  that  book! 

HUGH  (Obstinately):     Nay,  I'll  no  read  the  book. 

NELI  :     Give  me  that  book ! 

HUGH  (Rising  a  little):  Nay.  I  say  a  man  is  his 
own  master  whatever! 

NELI  (Finding  the  book  hidden  in  his  coat-tail 
pocket):  Is  he?  Well,  I'll  no  leave  ye  with  any 
masterful  temptations  to  be  readin'. 

HUGH  :  Ye've  no  cause  to  take  this  book  away 
from  me. 

NELI  (Opens  book  and  starts  with  delight):  'Tis 
Deacon  Roberts'  new  book  on  The  Flamin'  Wicked 
ness  of  Babylon.  Where  did  ye  get  it? 

HUGH  (Reassured  by  her  interest):  He  lent  it  to 
me  this  morning. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  161 

NELI  (Resolutely):  Well,  I  will  take  it  away  from 
ye  this  noon  till  I  am  home  again  whatever! 

HUGH  (Sulkily):  Sellin'  groceries  is  not  salvation. 
They  sold  groceries  in  Babylon ;  Deacon  Roberts  says 
so. 

NELI  (Looking  at  book  with  ill-disguised  eager 
ness)  :  I  dunno  as  anybody  ever  found  salvation  by 
givin'  away  all  he  had  for  nothin' !  'Tis  certain  Dea 
con  Roberts  has  not  followed  that  way. 

HUGH  (Still  sulkily):  A  man  is  his  own  master,  I 
say. 

NELI  (Absent-mindedly,  her  nose  in  the  book):  Is 
he?  Well,  indeed! 

HUGH  (Crossly):  Aye,  he  is.  (Pointedly):  An' 
I  was  not  plannin'  to  give  away  the  book  whatever. 

NELI  (Closing  volume  zvith  a  little  sigh  as  for  stolen 
delights  and  speaking  busily):  An'  I  am  not  talkin' 
about  acceptin'  books  but  about  butter  an'  eggs  an' 
cheese  an'  all  the  other  groceries ! 

HUGH  :  Aye,  ye'll  get  no  blessin'  from  such  world- 
liness. 

NELI  (Absent-mindedly):  Maybe  not,  but  ye  will 
get  a  dinner  from  that  unblessed  worldliness  an'  find 
no  fault,  I'm  thinkin'.  (Her  hand  lingering  on  the 
book  which  she  opens.)  But  such  wonderful  theology ! 
An'  such  eloquence!  Such  an  understandin'  of  sin! 
Such  glowin'  pictures  of  Babylon ! 

HUGH  :  Aye,  hot !  I  tell  ye,  Neli,  there's  no  man 
in  the  parish  has  such  a  gift  of  eloquence  as  Deacon 
Roberts  or  such  theology.  In  all  Wales  ye'll  not  find 
stronger  theology  than  his. 


162          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

NELI  :  Ye  have  no  need  to  tell  me  that !  (Looking 
for  a  place  in  which  to  hide  the  book  until  she  returns.) 
Have  I  not  a  deep  an'  proper  admiration  for  theology? 
Have  I  not  had  one  minister  an'  five  deacons  an'  a 
revivalist  in  my  family,  to  say  nothin'  at  all  of  one 
composer  of  hymns? 

HUGH  :  Yiss,  yiss.  Aye,  'tis  a  celebrated  family. 
I  am  no  sayin'  anythin'  against  your  family. 

NELI:     Then  what? 

HUGH  (Pleadingly) :  Deacon  Roberts  has  great  fire 
with  which  to  save  souls.  We're  needin'  that  book  on 
Babylon's  wickedness.  Give  it  back  to  me,  Neli ! 

NELI  :  Oh,  aye !  (Looks  at  husband.)  I'm  not 
sayin'  but  that  ye  are  wicked,  Hugh,  an'  needin'  these 
essays,  for  ye  have  no  ministers  and  deacons  and 
hymn  composers  among  your  kin. 

HUGH  (Triumphantly):  Aye,  aye,  that's  it!  That's 
it!  An'  the  more  need  have  I  to  read  till  my  nostrils 
are  full  of  the  smoke  of — of  Babylon. 

NELI  (Absent-mindedly  tucking  book  away  on  shelf 
as  she  talks):  Aye,  but  there  has  been  some  smoke 
about  Deacon  Roberts'  reputation  which  has  come 
from  some  fire  less  far  away  than  Babylon. 

HUGH:     What  smoke? 

NELI  (Evasively):  Well,  I  am  thinkin*  about  my 
eggs  which  vanished  one  week  ago  to-day.  There  was 
no  one  in  that  mornin'  but  Deacon  Roberts.  Mrs. 
Jones  the  Wash  had  come  for  her  soap  an'  gone  before 
I  filled  that  basket  with  eggs. 

HUGH  (Watching  her  covertly,  standing  on  tiptoe 
and  craning  his  neck  as  she  stows  away  book) :  Yiss, 
yiss! 


.THE  DEACON'S  HAT  163 

NELI  (Slyly):  Ask  Deacon  Roberts  if  cats  steal 
eggs  whatever? 

HUGH  (Repeating):  If  cats  steal  eggs,  if  cats  steal 
eggs. 

NELI  :     Aye,  not  if  eggs  steal  cats. 

HUGH  (Craning  neck):  Yiss,  yiss,  if  eggs  steal 
cats ! 

NELI  :  Hugh — ie !  Now  ye'll  never  get  it  correct 
again!  'Tis  if  cats  steal  eggs. 

HUGH  (Sulkily):  Well,  I'm  no  carin'  about  cats 
with  heaven  starin'  me  in  the  face. 

(Neli  turns  about  swiftly  with  the  quick  sudden  mo 
tions  characteristic  of  her,  and  Hugh  shrinks  into 
himself.  She  shakes  her  finger  at  him  and  goes  over 
to  kiss  him.) 

NELI  :  Hughie  lad,  ye're  not  to  touch  the  book 
while  I  am  gone  to  market. 

HUGH  :     Nay,  nay,  certainly  not ! 

NELI  :  And  ye're  to  be  on  the  lookout  for  Mrs. 
Jones  the  Wash,  for  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife — 
Jane  Elin  has  a  new  baby,  an'  it'll  be  needin'  somethin'. 
(Pointing  to  counter):  Here  is  everythin'  plainly 
marked.  Ye're  not  to  undersell  or  give  away  anythin'. 
D'  ye  hear? 

HUGH  :     Aye,  I  hear ! 

NELI  :  An'  remember  where  the  tobacco  is,  for  this 
is  the  day  Tom  Morris  the  Sheep  comes  in. 

HUGH:     Aye,  in  the  glass  jar. 

NELI:     Good-by.     I  will  return  soon. 

HUGH  (Indifferently):    Good-by. 

(Neli  leaves  by  door  at  back  center.    Immediately 


164          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

Hugh  steals  toward  the  shelves  where  she  hid  the 
book.) 

NELI  (Thrusting  head  back  in):  Mind,  Hughie 
lad,  no  readin' — nay,  not  even  any  theology! 

HUGH  (Stepping  quickly  away  from  shelves  and  re 
peating  parrot-like):  Nay,  nay,  no  readin',  no  ser 
mons,  not  even  any  theology ! 

NELI:  An'  no  salvation  till  I  come  back!  (She 
smiles,  withdraws  head,  and  is  gone.  Hugh  starts 
forward,  collides  clumsily  with  the  counter  in  his 
eagerness,  knocks  the  basket  of  eggs  with  his  elbow, 
upsetting  it.  Several  eggs  break.  He  shakes  his  head 
ruefully  at  the  mess  and  as  ruefully  at  the  counter. 
He  finds  book  and  hugs  it  greedily  to  him.) 

HUGH  (Mournfully) :  Look  at  this !  What  did  I 
say  but  that  there  was  no  salvation  sellin'  groceries! 
If  Neli  could  but  see  those  eggs!  (He  goes  behind 
counter  and  gets  out  a  box  of  eggs,  from  which  he  re 
fills  the  basket.  The  broken  eggs  he  leaves  untouched 
upon  the  floor.  He  opens  his  volume  of  sermons  and 
seats  himself  by  a  little  three-legged  table  near  the 
fire.  He  sighs  in  happy  anticipation.  Hearing  a 
slight  noise,  he  looks  suspiciously  at  door,  gets  up,  tip 
toes  across  floor  to  street  door,  and  locks  it  quietly. 
An  expression  of  triumph  overspreads  his  face.)  Ha, 
if  customers  come,  they  will  think  no  one  is  at  home 
whatever,  an'  I  can  read  on!  (He  seats  himself  at 
little  three-legged  table,  opens  volume,  smooths  over 
its  pages  lovingly,  and  begins  to  read  slowly  and  halt 
ing  over  syllables.)  "The  smoke  of  Ba-by-lon  was  hot 
— scorchin'  hot.  An'  'twas  filled  with  Ba-ba-ba-baal 
stones,  slimy  an'  scorchin'  hot  also — "  (There  is  the 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  165 

sound  of  feet  coming  up  the  shop  steps,  followed  by  a 
hand  trying  the  door-knob.  Hugh  looks  up  from  his 
sermons,  an  expression  of  innocent  triumph  on  his 
face.  The  door-knob  is  tried  again,  the  door  rattled. 
Then  some  one  rings  the  shop  door-bell.) 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Calling):  Mrs.  Williams, 
mum,  have  ye  any  soap?  (No  ansiver.  Calling): 
Mrs.  Williams!  Mrs.  Williams! 

(Hugh  nods  approvingly  and  lifts  his  volume  to 
read.) 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :  Where  are  they  all  what 
ever?  I  will  just  look  in  at  the  window.  (A  large 
kindly  face  is  anxiously  flattened  against  the  window. 
At  that  Hugh  drops  in  consternation  under  the  three- 
legged  table.)  Uch,  what's  that  shadow  skippin'  under 
the  table  ?  No  doubt  a  rat  after  the  groceries.  Mrs. 
Williams,  mum,  Mrs.  Williams !  Well,  indeed  they're 
out.  (She  pounds  once  more  on  the  door  with  a 
heavy  fist,  rings,  and  then  goes.  Suddenly  the  door 
back  center  opens,  and  Neli  Williams  appears.) 

NELI  (She  does  not  see  Hugh  and  peers  around  for 
him):  What  is  all  that  bell-ringing  about?  (Hugh 
crawls  out  from  under  table.) 

HUGH:     Hush,  she's  gone! 

NELI  (Amazed  and  whispering  to  herself):  Under 
the  table! 

HUGH  (Rising  and  putting  up  his  hand  as  a  sign 
for  her  to  keep  silent):  Nay,  'twas  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash  come  to  buy  her  soap  whatever! 

NELI  :    Aye,  well,  why  didn't  she  come  in  whatever  ? 

HUGH  (Whispering):  I  locked  the  door,  Neli,  so 
I  could  finish  readin'  those  essays  whatever!  An* 


166          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

then  she  looked  in  at  the  window,  an'  I  had  to  get  under 
the  table. 

NELI  (Indignantly):  Locked  the  door  against  a 
customer,  an'  after  all  I  said!  An'  crawled  under  a 
table!  Hugh  Williams,  your  wits  are  goin'  quite  on 
the  downfall! 

HUGH  (In  a  whisper):  Aye,  but,  Neli,  those  essays 
— an'  I  thought  ye  had  gone  to  market. 

NELI  :  I  had  started,  but  I  came  back  for  my 
purse.  Put  down  that  book! 

HUGH  :     Aye,  but,  Neli— 

NELI  (Angrily):  Much  less  of  heaven  an'  much 
more  of  earth  is  what  I  need  in  a  husband!  Ye  have 
sent  away  a  customer ;  very  like  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash 
after  soap  will  go  elsewhere. 

HUGH  :     Aye,  but,  Neli — 

(Steps  are  heard  approaching.) 

NELI  :     Get  up  !     Some  one  is  coming. 

(Hugh  gets  up  very  unwillingly.) 

HUGH  (Whispering  still):    Aye,  but,  Neli — 

NELI  (Angrily) :  Put  down  that  book,  I  say !  (She 
crunches  over  some  eggshells.)  Eggs?  Broken? 

HUGH  (Putting  down  book):  Aye,  Neli,  my  elbow 
an*  the  eggs  in  Babylon — 

NELI  (Sarcastically) :  Aye,  I  see  beasts  in  Babylon 
here  together, — doleful  creatures  smearin'  one  an'  six 
pence  worth  of  eggs  all  over  the  floor.  An'  a  half 
dozen  eggs  gone  last  week.  (Wiping  up  eggs.)  An' 
I'm  to  suppose  Babylon  had  something  to  do  with  that 
half  dozen  eggs,  too?  They  were  put  in  the  basket 
after  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash  had  left  whatever,  an'  be 
fore  Deacon  Roberts  came. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  167 

HUGH  :    Neli,  I  did  not  say — 

NELI  (Still  angrily):  Well,  indeed,  unlock  that 
door! 

HUGH  (Going  to  unlock  door):    But,  Neli — 

NELI  (Disappearing  through  door  back  center): 
Not  a  word!  Your  mind  has  gone  quite  on  the 
downfall — lockin'  doors  against  your  own  bread  and 
butter  an'  soap. 

HUGH  (Unlocking  door  sullenly):  But,  Neli,  salva 
tion  an'  soap — 

NELI  (Snappingly) :  Salvation  an'  soap  are  as  thick 
as  thieves. 

HUGH  :     But,  Neli,  a  man  is  his  own  master. 

NELI  :  Yiss,  I  see  he  is !  (Neli  goes  out,  slamming 
door  noisily.) 

HUGH  :  Dear  anwyl,  she  seems  angry !  (Hugh 
opens  street  door  left  just  as  Neli  goes  out  through 
kitchen,  by  door  back  center.  Deacon  Roberts  enters 
the  door  Hugh  has  unlocked.  He  looks  at  Hugh, 
smiles,  and  goes  over  to  counter  in  a  businesslike  way. 
He  is  a  stout  man,  dressed  in  a  black  broadcloth  cut 
away  coat,  tight  trousers,  a  drab  vest,  high  collar  and 
stock,  woolen  gloves,  a  muffler  wound  about  his  neck 
and  face,  and  a  tall  Welsh  beaver  hat.  Under  his  arm 
he  carries  a  book.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Speaking  affectionately,  pulling 
off  his  gloves,  putting  down  book  on  counter,  and  be 
ginning  eagerly  to  touch  the  various  groceries): 
Essays  on  Babylon  to-day,  Hughie  lad? 

HUGH  (Looking  about  for  Neli  and  speaking  fret 
fully)  :  Nay. 


168          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Unwinding  his  muffler):  Ye 
look  as  if  ye  had  been  in  spiritual  struggle. 

HUGH  (Drearily):    I  have. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  Well,  indeed,  Hughie,  'tis 
neither  the  angel  nor  the  archfiend  here  now,  nor  for 
me  any  struggle  except  the  struggle  to  both  live  an* 
eat  well — ho!  ho!  an'  eat  well,  I  say — in  Bala. 
(Laughs  jovially.)  Ho!  ho!  not  bad,  Hughie  lad, — 
live  an'  eat  in  Bala ! 

HUGH  (Patiently):  With  that  muffler  around  your 
head,  Deacon,  ye  are  enough  to  frighten  the  devil  out 
of  Babylon. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Unwinding  last  lap  of  muffler): 
Yiss,  yiss,  Hughie  lad.  But  I  dunno  but  ye  will 
understand  better  if  I  call  myself,  let  us  say  the  angel 
with  the  sickle — ho!  ho! — not  the  angel  of  fire, 
Hughie,  but  the  angel  with  the  sharp  sickle  gatherin' 
the  clusters  of  the  vines  of  the  earth.  (Sudden  change 
of  subject.)  Where  is  Neli? 

HUGH  (Vacantly):     I  dunno — yiss,  yiss,  at  market. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Chuckling):  Dear,  dear,  at 
market — a  fine  day  for  marketing!  An'  my  essays  on 
the  Flamin'  Wickedness  of  Babylon,  Hughie  lad,  how 
are  they?  Have  ye  finished  them? 

HUGH:     Nay,  not  yet 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Looking  over  counter,  touching 
one  article  after  another  as  he  mentions  it.)  Pickled 
herrin' — grand  but  wet!  Pickles — dear  me,  yiss, 
Neli's — an'  good!  Butter  from  Hafod-y-Porth — 
sweet  as  honey !  (He  picks  up  a  .pat  of  butter  and 
sniffs  it,  drawing  in  his  breath  loudly.  He  smiles  with 
delight  and  lays  do^vn  the  butter.  He  takes  off  his  hat 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  169 


and  dusts  it  out  inside.  He  puts  his  hat  back  on  his 
head,  smiles,  chuckles,  picks  up  butter,  taps  it  thought 
fully  with  two  fingers,  smells  it  and  puts  dozvn  the  pat 
lingeringly.  He  lifts  up  a  loaf  of  Neli  Williams' 
bread,  glancing  from  it  to  the  butter.)  Bread !  Dear 
me !  (His  eyes  glance  on  to  codfish.)  American  cod 
fish,  (picks  up  package  and  smacks  his  lips  loudly) 
dear  anwyl,  with  potatoes — (reads)  "Gloucester." 
(Reaches  out  and  touches  eggs  affectionately.)  Eggs 
— are  they  fresh,  Hugh? 

HUGH  (Dreamily):  I  dunno.  But  I  broke  some 
of  them.  They  might  be !  (Looks  at  floor.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS:     Were  they  fresh? 

HUGH  :     I  dunno. 

DFACON  ROBERTS  (Sharply):  Dunno?  About  eggs? 
(Picks  up  egg.) 

HUGH  (Troubled):     Neli's  hens  laid  them. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  I  see,  Neli's  hens  laid  'em,  an' 
you  broke  'em!  Admirable  arrangements!  (Putting 
down  the  egg  and  turning  toward  the  cheese,  speaks 
on  impatiently.)  Well,  indeed,  then,  were  the  hens 
fresh? 

HUGH  (More  cheerful) :  Yiss,  I  think.  Last  week 
the  basket  was  grand  an'  full  of  fresh  eggs,  but  they 
disappeared,  aye,  they  did  indeed. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Starts) :    Where  did  they  go  to  ? 

HUGH  (Injured):  How  can  I  say?  I  was  here, 
an'  I  would  have  told  her  if  I  had  seen,  but  I  did  not 
whatever.  Neli  reproves  me  for  too  great  attention 
to  visions  an*  too  little  to  the  groceries. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Chuckling):  Aye,  Hughie  lad, 
such  is  married  life!  Let  a  man  marry  his  thoughts 


170          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

or  a  wife,  for  he  can  not  have  both.  I  have  chosen 
my  thoughts. 

HUGH  :     But  the  cat — 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Briskly):  Aye,  a  man  can  keep 
a  cat  without  risk. 

HUGH  :  Nay,  nay,  I  mean  the  cat  took  'em.  I 
dunno.  That's  it — (Hugh  clutches  his  head,  trying  to 
recall  something.)  Uch,  that's  it!  Neli  told  me  to 
remember  to  ask  ye  if  ye  thought  eggs  could  steal  a 
cat  whatever. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Puzzled):    Eggs  steal  a  cat? 

HUGH  (Troubled):     Nay,  nay,  cats  steal  an  egg? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Startled  and  looking  suspiciously 
at  Hugh):  Cats?  What  cats? 

HUGH  (With  solemnity):  Aye,  but  I  told  Neli 
I'm  no  carin'  about  cats  with  heaven  starin'  me  in  the 
face.  Deacon  Roberts,  those  essays  are  grand  an' 
wonderful. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Relieved):  Yiss,  yiss!  Hughie 
lad,  theology  is  a  means  to  salvation  an'  sometimes  to 
other  ends,  too.  But  there's  no  money  in  theology. 
(Sighs.)  And  a  man  must  live !  (Points  to  cor 
roded  dish  of  pickled  herring,  sniffing  greedily.)  Dear 
people,  what  beautiful  herrin'!  (Wipes  moisture 
away  from  corners  of  his  mouth  and  picks  up  a  fish 
from  dish,  holding  it,  dripping,  by  tail.)  Pickled? 

HUGH  (Looking  at  corroded  dish):    Tuppence. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Shortly):    Dear  to-day. 

HUGH  (Eying  dish  dreamily):     I  dunno.     Neli — 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Eyes  glittering,  cutting  straight 
through  sentence  and  pointing  to  cheese):  Cheese? 

HUGH  :     A  shill',  I'm  thinkin'. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  171 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  A  shillin',  Hugh?  (Deacon 
Roberts  lifts  knife  and  drops  it  lightly  on  edge  of 
cheese.  The  leaf  it  pares  off  he  picks  up  and  thrusts 
into  his  mouth,  greedily  pushing  in  the  crumbs.  Then 
he  pauses  and  looks  slyly  at  Hugh.)  Was  it  sixpence 
ye  said,  Hugh? 

HUGH  (Gazing  toward  the  fire  and  the  volume  of 
essays):  Yiss,  sixpence,  I  think. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Sarcastically):  Still  too  dear, 
Hugh! 

HUGH  (Sighing):  I  dunno,  it  might  be  dear. 
(With  more  animation) :  Deacon,  when  Babylon 
fell— 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Wipes  his  mouth  and,  interrupt 
ing  Hugh,  speaks  decisively):  No  cheese.  (He  re 
moves  his  tall  Welsh  beaver  hat,  mops  off  his  bald 
white  head,  and,  pointing  up  to  the  shelves,  begins  to 
dust  out  inside  of  hatband  again  but  with  a  deliberate 
air  of  preparation.)  What  is  that  up  there,  Hughie 
lad? 

HUGH  (Trying  to  follow  the  direction  of  the  big 
red  wavering  forefinger):  Ye  mean  that?  ABC 
In- f ants'  Food,  I  think. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Giving  his  hat  a  final  wipe): 
Nay,  nay,  not  for  me,  Hughie  lad!  Come,  come, 
brush  the  smoke  of  burnin*  Babylon  from  your  eyes ! 
In  a  minute  I  must  be  goin'  back  to  my  study,  what 
ever.  An'  I  have  need  of  food ! 

(Hugh  takes  a  chair  and  mounts  it.  The  Deacon 
looks  at  Hugh's  back,  puts  his  hand  down  on  the 
counter,  and  picks  up  an  egg  from  the  basket.  He 
holds  it  to  the  light  and  squints  through  it  to  see 


172          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

whether  it  is  fresh.  Then  he  turns  it  lovingly  over  in 
his  fat  palm,  makes  a  dexterous  backivard  motion  and 
slides  it  into  his  coat-tail  pocket.  This  he  follows  with 
two  more  eggs  for  same  coat  tail  and  three  for  other — 
in  all  half  a  dozen.) 

HUGH  (Dreamily  pointing  to  tin):  Is  it  Yankee 
corn? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (To  Hugh's  back  and  slipping  in 
second  egg) :  Nay,  nay,  not  that,  Hughie  lad,  that  tin 
above ! 

HUGH  (Absent-mindedly  touching  tin):  Is  it  ox 
tongue  ? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Slipping  in  third  egg  and  not 
even  looking  up):  Ox  tongue,  lad?  Nay,  nothin'  so 
large  as  that. 

HUGH  (Dreamily  reaching  up  higher) :  American 
condensed  m-m-milk?  Yiss,  that's  what  it  is. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Slipping  in  fourth  egg):  Con 
densed  milk,  Hughie?  Back  to  infants'  food  again. 

HUGH  (Stretching  up  almost  to  his  full  length  and 
holding  down  tin  with  tips  of  long  white  finger): 
Kippert  herrin'  ?  Is  it  that  ? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Slipping  in  fifth  egg):  Nay, 
nay,  a  little  further  up,  if  you  please. 

HUGH  (Gasping,  but  still  reaching  up  and  reading) : 
Uto — Uto — U-to-pi-an  Tinned  Sausage.  Is  it  that? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Slipping  in  sixth  egg  with  an  air 
of  finality  and  triumph,  and  lifting  his  hat  from  the 
counter):  Nay,  nay,  not  that,  Hughie  lad.  Why  do 
ye  not  begin  by  askin'  me  what  I  want?  Ye've  no  gift 
for  sellin'  groceries  whatever. 

HUGH  (Surprised) :     Did  I  not  ask  ye  ? 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  173 

DEACON  ROBERTS:     Nay. 

HUGH:  What  would  Neli  say  whatever?  She 
would  never  forgive  me. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Amiably):  Well,  I  forgive  ye, 
Hughie  lad.  'Tis  a  relish,  I'm  needin' ! 

HUGH  (Relieved):  Well,  indeed,  a  relish!  We 
have  relishes  on  that  shelf  above,  I  think.  (Reaches 
up  but  pauses  helplessly.)  I  must  tell  Neli  that  these 
shelves  are  not  straight.  (Dizzy  and  clinging  to  the 
shelves,  his  back  to  the  Deacon.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Picking  up  a  pound  of  butter 
wrapped  in  print  paper):  Is  it  up  there? 

HUGH  :  No,  I  think,  an'  the  shelves  are  not  fast 
whatever.  I  must  tell  Neli.  They  go  up  like  wings. 
(Trying  to  reach  a  bottle  just  above  him.)  Was  it 
English  or  American? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Putting  the  pound  of  butter  in  his 
hat  and  his  hat  on  his  head):  American,  Hughie  lad. 

(At  that  instant  there  is  a  noise  from  the  inner 
kitchen,  and  Neli  Williams  opens  the  door.  The 
Deacon  turns,  and  their  glances  meet  and  cross.  Each 
understands  perfectly  what  the  other  has  seen.  Neli 
Williams  has  thrown  off  her  red  cloak  and  taken  off 
her  Welsh  beaver  hat.  She  is  dressed  in  a  short  full 
skirt,  white  stockings,  clogs  on  her  feet,  a  striped 
apron,  tight  bodice,  fichu,  short  sleeves,  and  white  cap 
on  dark  hair.) 

NELI  (Slowly):  Uch!  The  Deacon  has  what  he 
came  for  whatever! 

HUGH  (Turning  to  contradict  his  wife):  Nay, 
Neli, — (Losing  his  balance  on  chair,  tumbles  off,  and, 
with  arm  flung  out  to  save  himself,  strikes  dish  of 


174          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

pickled  herring.  The  herring  and  brine  fly  in  every 
direction,  spraying  the  Deacon  and  Hughie;  the  bowl 
spins  madly,  dipping  and  revolving  on  the  floor.  For 
a  few  seconds  nothing  is  audible  except  the  bowl  re 
volving  on  the  flagstones  and  Hugh  picking  himself  up 
and  sneezing  behind  the  counter.)  Achoo!  Achoo! 
Dear  me,  Neli — achoo! 

NELI  (Going  quickly  to  husband  and  beginning  to 
wipe  brine  from  husband's  forehead  and  cheeks;  at 
the  same  time  has  her  back  to  the  Deacon  and  form 
ing  soundless  letters  with  her  lip,  she  jerks  her  head 
toward  the  Deacon) :  B-U-T-T-E-R ! 

HUGH  (Drearily):  Better?  Aye,  I'm  better.  It 
did  not  hurt  me  whatever. 

NELI  (Jerking  head  backward  toward  Deacon 
Roberts  and  again  forming  letters  with  lips): 
B-U-T-T-E-R! 

HUGH  :  What,  water  ?  Nay,  I  don't  want  any 
water. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Coughing,  ill  at  ease  and  glancing 
suspiciously  at  bowl  that  has  come  to  rest  near  his 
leg.)  Ahem!  Tis  cold  here,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum, 
an'  I  must  be  moving'  on. 

NELI  (Savagely  to  Deacon):  Stay  where  ye  are 
whatever ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Unaccustomed  to  being  spoken  to 
this  way  by  a  woman):  Well,  indeed,  mum,  I  could 
stay,  but  I'm  thinkin'  'tis  cold  an' — I'd  better  go. 

NELI  (Again  savagely):  Nay,  stay!  Stay  for — 
for  what  ye  came  for  whatever!  (Neli  looks  cJial- 
lengingly  at  the  Deacon.  Then  she  goes  on  wiping 
brine  carefully  from  husband's  hair  and  from  behind 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  175 

his  ears.  The  Deacon  coughs  and  pushes  bozvl  away 
with  the  toe  of  his  boot.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Smiling):  'Tis  unnecessary  to 
remain  then,  mum. 

NELI  (To  Hugh):     What  did  he  get? 

HUGH   (Sneezing) :     N — n — achoo  ! — nothin' ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (With  sudden  interest  looking  at 
the  Ho  or):  Well,  indeed! 

NELI  (Suspiciously) :     What  is  it  ? 

(He  reaches  down  with  difficulty  to  a  small  thick 
puddle  on  the  -floor  just  beneath  his  left  coat  tail.  He 
aims  a  red  forefinger  at  it,  lifts  himself,  and  sucks 
fingertip.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Smiling):  Ahem,  Mrs.  Will 
iams,  mum,  'tis  excellent  herrin'  brine!  (From  the 
basket  on  the  counter  he  picks  up  an  egg  which  he 
tosses  lightly  and  replaces  in  basket.)  A  beautiful 
fresh  egg,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum.  I  must  be  steppin' 
homeward. 

HUGH  (Struggling  to  speak  just  as  Neli  reaches  his 
nose,  wringing  it  vigorously  as  she  wipes  it):  Aye, 
but,  Neli,  I  was  just  tellin'  ye  when  I  fell  that  I  could 
not  find  the  Deacon's  relish — uch,  achoo !  achoo  ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (With  finality ,  tossing  the  egg  in 
air,  catching  it  and  putting  it  back  in  basket):  Well, 
indeed,  mum,  I  must  be  steppin'  homewards  now. 
(Neli's  glance  rests  on  fire  burning  on  other  side  of 
room.  She  puts  down  wet  cloth.  She  turns  squarely 
on  the  Deacon.) 

NELI  :  What  is  your  haste,  Mr.  Roberts  ?  Please 
to  go  to  the  fire  an'  wait !  I  can  find  the  relish. 

DEACON   ROBERTS   (Hastily):    Nay,  nay,  mum.     I 


176          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

have  no  need  any  more —  (Coughs.)  Excellent 
herrin'  brine.  (Goes  toward  door.) 

NELI  (To  Hugh):  Take  him  to  the  fire,  Hugh. 
'Tis  a  cold  day  whatever !  (Insinuatingly  to  Deacon)  : 
Have  ye  a  reason  for  wantin'  to  go,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Going) :  Nay,  nay,  mum,  none 
at  all !  But,  I  must  not  trouble  ye.  'Tis  too  much  to 
ask,  an*  I  have  no  time  to  spare  an' — 

NELI  (Interrupting  and  not  without  acerbity):  In 
deed,  Mr.  Roberts,  sellin'  what  we  can  is  our  profit. 
(To  Hugh,  who  obediently  takes  Deacon  by  arm  and 
pulls  him  toward  fire):  Take  him  to  the  fire,  lad. 
(To  Deacon):  What  kind  of  a  relish  was  it,  did  ye 
say,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Having  a  tug  of  war  with 
Hugh):  'Tis  an  Indian  relish,  mum,  but  I  can  not 
wait. 

HUGH  (Pulling  harder):    American,  ye  said. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Hastily):  Yiss,  yiss,  American 
Indian  relish,  that  is. 

NELI  :  Tut,  'tis  our  specialty,  these  American 
Indian  relishes!  We  have  several.  Sit  down  by  the 
fire  while  I  look  them  up.  (Wickedly):  As  ye  said, 
Mr.  Roberts,  'tis  cold  here  this  morning. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  There,  Hughie  lad,  I  must  not 
trouble  ye.  (Looks  at  clock.)  Tis  ten  minutes  be 
fore  twelve,  an*  my  dinner  will  be  ready  at  twelve. 
(Pulls  harder.) 

NELI  (To  Hugh) :     Keep  him  by  the  fire,  lad. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  There,  Hughie  lad,  let  me  go! 
(But  Hugh  holds  on,  and  the  Deacon's  coat  begins  to 
come  off. 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  177 

NELI  (Sarcastically) :  The  relish — American  Indian, 
ye  said,  I  think, — will  make  your  dinner  taste  fine  and 
grand ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Finding  that  without  leaving  his 
coat  behind  he  is  unable  to  go,  he  glowers  at  Hugh 
and  speaks  sweetly  to  Nell):  'Tis  a  beautiful  clock, 
Mrs.  Williams,  mum.  But  I  haven't  five  minutes  to 
spare. 

NELI  (Keeping  a  sharp  lookout  on  the  rim  of  the 
Deacon's  hat):  Well,  indeed,  I  can  find  the  relish  in 
just  one  minute.  An'  ye'll  have  abundance  of  time 
left. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Trapped  and  gazing  at  clock  with 
fine  air  of  indifference) :  'Tis  a  clever,  shinin'  lookin' 
clock  whatever,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum. 

NELI  :  Have  ye  any  recollection  of  the  name  of  the 
maker  of  the  relish,  Mr.  Roberts? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Putting  his  hands  behind  him 
anxiously  and  parting  his  freighted  coat  tails  with 
care;  then,  revolving,  presenting  his  back  and  one 
large  well-set  bright-colored  patch  to  the  fire):  Nay, 
I  have  forgotten  it,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum. 

NELI:  Too  bad,  but  I'm  sure  to  find  it.  (She 
mounts  upon  chair.  At  this  moment  the  shop  door 
bell  rings  violently,  and  there  enters  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash,  very  fat  and  very  jolly.  She  is  dressed  in  short 
skirt  very  full,  clogs  on  her  feet,  a  bodice  made  of 
striped  Welsh  ilannel,  a  shabby  kerchief,  a  cap  on  her 
head,  and  over  this  a  shawl.  Neli  turns  her  head  a 
little.)  Aye,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash,  in  a  minute,  if 
you  please.  Sit  down  until  I  find  Deacon  Roberts' 
relish  whatever. 


178          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Sits  down  on  chair  by  door 
back  center  and  folds  her  hands  over  her  stomach): 
Yiss,  yiss,  mum,  thank  you.  I've  come  for  soap.  I 
came  once  before,  but  no  one  was  in. 

NELI:     Too  bad! 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH:  An'  I  looked  in  at  the 
window  an'  saw  nothin*  but  a  skippin'  shadow,  looked 
like  a  rat.  Have  ye  any  rats,  Mrs.  Williams,'  mum,  do 
ye  think? 

NELI:  Have  I  any  rats?  Well,  indeed,  'tis  that 
I'm  wantin'  to  know,  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :  Well,  I  came  back,  for 
the  water  is  eatin'  the  soap  to-day  as  if  'twere  sweets 
— aye,  'tis  a  very  meltin'  day  for  soap !  (Laughs.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  Tis  sweet  to  be  clean,  Mrs. 
Jones  the  Wash. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Laughing):  Yiss,  yiss, 
Deacon  Roberts,  there  has  many  a  chapel  been  built 
out  of  a  washtub,  an'  many  a  prayer  risen  up  from 
the  suds! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Solemnly):  Aye,  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash,  'tis  holy  work,  washin'  is  very  holy  work. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Touched):  Yiss,  yiss,  I 
thank  ye,  Deacon  Roberts. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  Well,  I  must  be  steppin'  home 
ward  now. 

NELI  (Firmly):  Nay,  Mr.  Roberts,  I  am  searchin' 
on  the  shelf  where  I  think  that  American  Indian  relish 
is.  Ye  act  as  if  ye  had  some  cause  to  hurry,  Mr. 
Roberts.  Wait  a  moment,  if  you  please. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  Well,  indeed,  but  I  am  keepin' 
Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash  waitinM 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  179 

NELI  (To  Mrs.  Jones):    Ye  are  in  no  haste? 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Thoroughly  comfortable 
and  happy):  Nay,  mum,  no  haste  at  all.  I  am 
havin'  a  rest,  an'  'tis  grand  an'  warm  here  what 
ever. 

NELI  (Maliciously  to  Deacon) :  Does  it  feel  hot  by 
the  fire? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Experiencing  novel  sensations  on 
the  crown  of  his  bald  head):  Mrs.  Williams,  mum, 
'tis  hot  in  Y  Gegin,  but  as  with  Llanycil  Churchyard, 
Y  Gegin  is  only  the  portal  to  a  hotter  an'  a  bigger 
place  where  scorchin'  flames  burn  forever  an'  forever. 
Proverbs  saith,  'Hell  an'  destruction  are  never  full.' 
What,  then,  shall  be  the  fate  of  women  who  have  no 
wisdom,  Mrs.  Williams,  mum? 

NELI  (Searching  for  relish):  Aye,  what?  Well, 
indeed,  the  men  must  know. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Nodding  her  head  ap 
preciatively  at  Hugh) :  Such  eloquence,  Mr.  Williams ! 
Aye,  who  in  chapel  has  such  grand  theology  as  Deacon 
Roberts !  (She  sighs.  The  bell  rings  violently  again, 
and  Tom  Morris  the  Sheep  enters.  He  is  dressed  in 
gaiters,  a  shepherd's  cloak,  etc.,  etc.  He  carries  a 
crook  in  his  hand.  He  is  a  grizzle-haired,  rosy-faced 
old  man,  raw-boned,  strong  and  aivkward,  with  a  half- 
earnest,  half-foolish  look.) 

NELI  (Looking  around):  Aye,  Tom  Morris  the 
Sheep,  come  in  an'  sit  down.  I  am  lookin'  out  an 
American  Indian  relish  for  the  Deacon. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Yiss,  mum.  I  am 
wantin'  to  buy  a  little  tobacco,  mum.  'Tis  lonely  upon 
the  hillsides  with  the  sheep,  whatever. 


180          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Hastily) :  I  must  go  now,  Mrs. 
Williams,  mum,  an'  ye  can  wait  on  Tom  Morris. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Nay,  nay,  Mr.  Roberts, 
sir,  there  is  no  haste. 

NELI  (To  Tom  Morris):  Sit  down  there  by  the 
door,  if  you  please.  (Tom  Morris  seats  himself  on 
other  side  of  door  by  back  center.) 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Yiss,  mum.  (Touches 
his  forelock  to  Mrs.  Jones  the  Wash.)  A  grand  day 
for  the  clothes,  Mrs.  Jones,  mum. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :  Yiss,  yiss,  an'  as  I  was 
just  sayin'  'tis  a  meltin'  day  for  the  soap ! 

NELI  (Significantly):  An'  perhaps  'tis  a  meltin' 
day  for  somethin'  besides  soap!  (She  looks  at  Dea 
con.) 

HUGH  (Earnestly):  Yiss,  yiss,  for  souls,  meltin' 
for  souls,  I  am  hopin'.  (Picking  up  the  book  from  the 
little  three-legged  table,  and  speaking  to  the  Deacon): 
They  are  enlargin'  the  burial  ground  in  Llanycil 
Churchyard — achoo !  achoo ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Slyly  moving  a  step  away  from 
fire):  They're  only  enlargin'  hell,  Hughie  lad,  an*  in 
that  place  they  always  make  room  for  all.  (He  casts 
a  stabbing  look  at  Neli.) 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Nodding  head):  True, 
true,  room  for  all!  (Chuckling):  But  'twould  be  a 
grand  place  to  dry  the  clothes  in! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Severely):  Mrs.  Jones,  mum, 
hell  is  paved  with  words  of  lightness. 

HUGH  (Looking  up  from  book,  his  face  expressing 
delight):  Deacon  Roberts,  I  have  searched  for  the 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  181 

place  of  hell,  but  one  book  sayeth  one  thing,  an'  an 
other  another.  Where  is  hell? 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:    Aye,  where  is  hell? 

(The  bell  rings  violently.  All  start  except  Neli. 
Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife  enters.  She  is  an  old 
woman,  white-haired  and  with  a  commanding,  some 
what  disagreeable  expression  on  her  face.  She  wears 
a  cloak  and  black  Welsh  beaver  and  walks  with  a 
stick.) 

NELI:  Yiss,  yiss,  Mrs.  Jenkins  the  Midwife,  I  am 
just  lookin'  out  a  relish  for  the  Deacon.  Sit  down 
by  the  fire,  please. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (Seating  herself  on 
other  side  of  fire):  Aye,  muni,  I've  come  for  pins; 
I'm  in  no  haste,  mum. 

NELI  :     Is  it  Jane  Elin's  baby  ? 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  :  Aye,  Jane  Elin's, 
an'  'tis  my  sixth  hundredth  birth. 

HUGH  :  We're  discussing  the  place  of  hell,  Mrs. 
Jenkins,  mum. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:  Well,  indeed,  I 
have  seen  the  place  of  hell  six  hundred  times  then. 
(Coughs  and  nods  her  head  up  and  down  over  stick.) 
Heaven  an*  hell  I'm  thinkin'  we  have  with  us  here. 

HUGH:  Nay,  nay,  how  could  that  be?  Tell  us 
where  is  the  place  of  hell,  Deacon  Roberts.  (All 
listen  with  the  most  intense  interest.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Nodding):  Aye,  the  place  of 
hell — (Stopping  suddenly,  a  terrified  look  on  his  face, 
as  the  butter  slides  against  the  forward  rim  of  his 
hat,  almost  knocking  it  off,  then  going  on  with  neck 


182          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

rigid  and  head  straight  up) — to  me  is  known  where 
is  that  place — their  way  is  dark  an'  slippery;  they  go 
down  into  the  depths,  an'  their  soul  is  melted  because 
of  trouble. 

NELI  (Pausing  skeptically):  Aye,  'tis  my  idea  of 
hell  whatever  with  souls  meltin',  Mr.  Roberts. 

HUGH  (Tense  with  expectation):  Tell  us  where 
is  that  place! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Neck  rigid,  head  unmoved  and 
voice  querulous}:  Yiss,  yiss.  (Putting  his  hand  up 
and  letting  it  down  quickly.)  Ahem!  Ye  believe 
that  it  rains  in  Bala? 

HUGH  (Eyes  on  Deacon  in  childlike  faith):     I  do. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:  Yiss,  yiss,  before 
an'  after  every  birth  whatever! 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :  Yiss,  yiss,  who  would 
know  better  than  I  that  it  rains  in  Bala? 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP  :  Aye,  amen,  it  rains  in 
Bala  upon  the  hills  an'  in  the  valleys. 

DEACON  ROBERTS:  Ye  believe  that  it  can  rain  in 
Bala  both  when  the  moon  is  full  an'  when  'tis  new? 

HUGH  (Earnestly):    I  do. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Wearily):  Yiss,  any 
time. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:    Aye,  all  the  time. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:  Yiss,  yiss,  it  rains 
ever  an'  forever! 

NELI  (Forgetting  the  relish  search):  Well,  indeed, 
'tis  true  it  can  rain  in  Bala  at  any  time  an'  at  all 
times. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Paying  no  attention  to  Neli): 
Ye  believe  that  Tomen-y-Bala  is  Ararat? 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  183 

HUGH  (Clutching  his  book  more  tightly  and  speak- 
ing  in  a  whisper):  Yiss. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :     Aye,  'tis  true. 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:  Yiss,  the  Hill  of 
Bala  is  Ararat. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Yiss,  I  have  driven  the 
sheep  over  it  whatever  more  than  a  hundred  times. 

NELI  (Both  hands  on  counter,  leaning  forward, 
listening  to  Deacon's  words):  Aye,  Charles-y-Bala 
said  so. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Still  ignoring  Nell  and  lowering 
his  coat  tails  carefully):  Ye  believe,  good  people, 
that  the  Druids  called  Noah  "Tegid,"  an'  that  those 
who  were  saved  were  cast  up  on  Tomen-y-Bala  ? 

HUGH  :     Amen,  I  do ! 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (Nodding  her  old 
head):  Aye.  'tis  true. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :     Yiss,  yiss. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:     Amen,  'tis  so. 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Moving  a  few  steps  away  from 
the  fire,  standing  sidewise,  and  lifting  hand  to  head, 
checking  it  in  mid-air):  An'  ye  know  that  Bala  has 
been  a  lake,  an'  Bala  will  become  a  lake? 

HUGH  :    Amen,  I  do ! 

NELI  (Assenting  for  the  first  time):  Yiss,  'tis 
true — that  is. 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :     Dear  anwyl,  yiss ! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (With  warning  gesture  toivard 
window):  Hell  is  out  there — movin'  beneath  Bala 
Lake  to  meet  all  at  their  comin'.  (Raises  his  voice 
suddenly.)  Red-hot  Baal  stones  will  fall  upon  your 
heads — Baal  stones.  Howl,  ye!  (Shouting  loudly.) 


184          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

Meltin'  stones  smellin'  of  the  bullocks.  Howl,  ye 
sinners !  (Clasping  his  hands  together  desperately.) 
Scorchin'  hot — Oo — o — o — Howl,  ye ! — howl,  ye  !  (The 
Deacon's  hat  sways,  and  he  jams  it  down  more  tightly 
on  his  head.  Unclasping  his  hands  and  as  if  stirring 
up  the  contents  of  a  pudding  dish.)  Round  an' 
round  like  this!  Howl,  ye  sinners,  howl!  (All  moan 
and  sway  to  and  fro  except  Neli.) 

NELI   (Skeptically):     What  is  there  to  fear? 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (Groaning):  Nay, 
but  what  is  there  not  to  fear? 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :  Aye,  outermost  dark 
ness.  Och !  Och ! 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:     Have  mercy! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Shouting  again):  Get  ready! 
Lift  up  your  eyes!  (Welsh  beaver  almost  falls  off 
and  is  set  straight  in  a  twinkling.)  Beg  for  mercy 
before  the  stones  of  darkness  burn  thee,  an'  there  is 
no  water  to  cool  thy  tongue,  an'  a  great  gulf  is  fixed 
between  thee  an'  those  who  might  help  thee! 

NELI  (Spellbound  by  the  Deacon's  eloquence  and 
now  oblivious  to  hat,  etc.):  Yiss,  yiss,  'tis  true,  'tis 
very  true !  (She  steps  down  from  chair  and  places 
hands  on  counter.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (His  face  convulsed,  shouting 
directly  at  her):  Sister,  hast  thou  two  eyes  to  be 
cast  into  hell  fire? 

NELI  (Terrified  and  swept  along  by  his  eloquence): 
Two  eyes  to  be  burned?  (All  lower  their  heads, 
groaning  and  rocking  to  and  fro.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (The  butter  trickling  down  his 
face,  yelling  with  sudden  violence):  Hell  is  here  an' 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  185 

now.  Here  in  Bala,  here  in  Y  Gegin,  here  with  us! 
Howl,  ye !  Howl,  ye  sinners !  (All  moan  together.) 

HUGH  (Whispering):    Uch,  here! 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:    Yiss,  here! 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  :     Yiss. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP  (Terrified):  Aye. 
Amen !  Yiss ! 

NELI   (Whispering):    Here  in  Y  Gegin! 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Clapping  his  hands  to  his  face)  : 
Stones  of  Baal,  stones  of  darkness,  slimy  with  ooze, 
red-hot  ooze,  thick  vapors!  Howl,  ye,  howl,  ye  sin 
ners  !  (All  moan  and  groan.  Takes  a  glance  at 
clock,  passes  hand  over  face  and  runs  on  madly,  neck 
rigid,  eyes  staring,  fat  red  cheeks  turning  to  purple.) 
Midday,  not  midnight,  is  the  hour  of  Hell ;  its  sun 
never  sets!  But  who  knows  when  comes  that  hour 
of  Hell? 

NELI  (Taking  hands  from  counter  and  crossing 
them  as  she  whispers):  Who  knows? 

ALL  (Groaning):     Who  knows? 

HUGH  (Voice  quavering  and  lifting  his  Welsh 
essays):  Who  knows? 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Big  yellow  drops  pouring  down 
his  face,  his  voice  full  of  anguish):  I  will  tell  ye 
when  is  the  hour  of  Hell.  (He  points  to  the  clock.) 
Is  one  the  hour  of  Hell?  Nay.  Two?  Nay. 
Three?  No,  not  three.  Four?  Four  might  be  the 
hour  of  Hell,  but  'tis  not.  Five?  Nor  five,  indeed. 
Six?  Nay.  Seven?  Is  seven  the  hour,  the  awful 
hour?  Nay,  not  yet.  Eight?  Is  eight  the  hour — 
an  hour  bright  as  this  bright  hour?  Nay,  eight  is  not. 
(The  Deacon  shouts  in  a  mighty  voice  and  points  with 


186          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

a  red  finger  at  the  clock.)  'Tis  comin' !  Tis  comin', 
I  say!  Howl,  ye,  howl!  Only  one  minute  more! 
Sinners,  sinners,  lift  up  your  eyes!  Cry  for  mercy! 
(All  groan.)  Cry  for  mercy!  When  the  clock 
strikes  twelve,  'twill  be  the  hour  of  Hell!  Fix  your 
eyes  upon  the  clock!  Watch!  Count!  Listen!  'Tis 
strikin'.  The  stroke!  The  hour  is  here! 

(All,  dropped  on  their  knees  and  turned  toward  the 
clock,  their  backs  to  the  street  door,  are  awaiting  the 
awful  stroke.  The  book  has  fallen  from  Hugh's 
hands.  Nell's  hands  are  clenched.  Mrs.  Jenkins  the 
Midwife  is  nodding  her  old  head.  Mrs.  Jones  the 
Wash,  on  her  knees,  her  face  upturned  to  the  clock, 
is  rubbing  up  and  down  her  thighs  as  if  at  the  busi 
ness  of  washing.  Tom  Morris  the  Sheep  is  prostrate 
and  making  a  strange  buzzing  sound  between  his  lips. 
The  wheels  of  the  clever  old  timepiece  whir  and  turn. 
Then  in  the  silent  noonday  the  hard  striking  begins: 
One,  Two,  Three,  Four,  Five,  Six,  Seven,  Eight,  Nine, 
Ten,  Eleven,  Twelve.) 

DEACON  ROBERTS  (Yelling  suddenly  in  a  loud  and 
terrible  voice) :  Hell  let  loose !  Howl,  ye !  Howl,  ye 
sinners!  (All  cover  their  eyes.  All  groan  or  moan. 
The  clock  ticks,  the  name  in  the  grate  nutters,  Nell's 
bosom  rises  and  falls  heavily.)  Lest  worse  happen 
to  ye,  sin  no  more!  (The  Deacon  looks  at  them  all 
quietly.  Then  he  lifts  his  hands  in  sign  of  blessing, 
smiles  and  vanishes  silently  through  street  door.  All 
remain  stationary  in  their  terror.  Nothing  happens. 
But  at  last  Neli  fearfully,  still  spellbound  by  the  Dea 
con's  eloquence,  lifts  her  eyes  to  the  clock.  Then 


THE  DEACON'S  HAT  187 

cautiously  she  turns  a  little  toward  the  fire  and  the 
place  of  Deacon  Roberts. 

NELI:  Uch!  (She  stands  on  her  feet  and  cries 
out):  The  Deacon  is  gone! 

HUGH  (Raising  his  eyes):  Uch,  what  is  it? 
Babylon — • 

NELI  :     Babylon  nothing !     (She  wrings  her  hands.) 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (Groaning):  Is  he 
dead?  Is  he  dead? 

NELI  (With  sudden  plunge  toward  the  door) :  Uch, 
ye  old  hypocrite,  ye  villain!  Uch,  my  butter  an'  my 
eggs,  my  butter  an'  my  eggs !  (Nell  throws  open  the 
door  and  slams  it  to  after  her  as  she  pursues  the 
Deacon  out  into  the  bright  midday  sunshine.) 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE:  Well,  indeed,  what 
is  it?  Has  she  been  taken? 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Getting  up  heavily) :  Such 
movin'  eloquence !  A  saintly  man  is  Deacon  Roberts ! 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Aye,  a  saintly  man  is 
Deacon  Roberts! 

HUGH  (Picking  up  his  book  and  speaking  slowly): 
Aye,  eloquence  that  knoweth  the  place  of  Hell  even 
better  than  it  knoweth  Bala  whatever! 

MRS.  JENKINS  THE  MIDWIFE  (Very  businesslike): 
Aye,  'twas  a  treat — a  rare  treat!  But  where's  my 
pins  now? 

MRS.  JONES  THE  WASH  (Very  businesslike) :  Yiss, 
yiss,  'twas  a  grand  an'  fine  treat.  But  I'm  wantin* 
my  soap  now. 

TOM  MORRIS  THE  SHEEP:  Have  ye  any  tobacco, 
Hughie  lad? 

CURTAIN 


THE    EXCHANGE 
A  COMIC-FARCE 

By 
ALTHEA  THURSTON 


Written  as  a  requirement  of  English  109 — Play  writing 

and  Dramatic  Technique  of  the  One- Act  Play — under 

Professor  B.  Roland  Lewis.     Head  of  the  English 

Department  of  The  University  of  Utah 


ALTHEA  THURSTON 

Althea  Thurston  (Mrs.  Walter  R.  Thurston)  is  a 
resident  of  Salt  Lake  City,  Utah,  and  is  a  thoroughly 
western  woman.  She  received  her  academic  educa 
tion  in  Colorado  Springs,  Colorado,  and  has  spent 
several  years  in  Texas  and  Arizona.  She  received 
her  technical  training  in  playwriting  at  the  University 
of  Utah,  and  has  just  completed  at  that  institution  a 
very  thoroughgoing  course  in  the  development  of  the 
English  drama  covering  a  period  from  the  earliest 
liturgical  plays  through  contemporary  drama. 

While  Mrs.  Thurston  is  interested  in  the  creative 
aspect  of  both  poetry  and  short  stories,  it  is  to  the 
drama  that  she  is  giving  her  particular  attention. 
The  Exchange  was  first  produced  in  October,  1919, 
by  the  Ogden  Dramatic  Club,  who  played  it  before 
the  state  convention  of  the  Federation  of  Women's 
Clubs  in  Salt  Lake  City.  It  has  since  been  frequently 
played  by  schools  and  clubs.  Mrs.  Thurston  is  also 
the  author  of  When  a  Man's  Hungry,  And  the  Devil 
Laughs, — one-act  plays, — The  Trail  Blazers,  a  pag 
eant-drama,  and  A  Pageant  of  Spring,  which  was 
presented  on  the  campus  of  the  University  of  Utah 
by  the  summer  school  students  of  public  speaking  and 
interpretative  dancing  in  July,  1920. 

THE  EXCHANGE 

Like  the  short  story  the  short  play  would  teach  as 
well  as  entertain.  And  we  can  not  feel  that  such  a 

190 


THE  EXCHANGE  191 

play  as  this  preaches,  hence  its  lesson  is  the  greater. 
In  the  words  of  Professor  B.  Roland  Lewis  "The  Ex 
change  deals  with  a  very  fundamental  observation  of 
life,  and  is  presented  in  concrete  form — two  essen 
tials  for  a  good  play." 


(Copyright,  1920.  Permission  to  perform  The  Exchange 
must  be  obtained  from  the  Extension  Division  of  the  Uni 
versity  of  Utah,  or  from  Althea  Thurston,  1201  First  Avenue, 
Salt  Lake  City,  Utah.) 


PROPERTY  OF 
DEPMTSEBT  OF  DlANATIt  WT 

THE  EXCHANGE 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS 

JUDGE,  the  Exchanger  of  Miseries. 
IMP,  office  boy  to  the  Judge. 
A  POOR  MAN. 
A  VAIN  WOMAN. 
A  RICH  CITIZEN. 

SCENE:  The  curtain  rises  upon  an  office  scene. 
There  is  nothing  unusual  about  this  office:  it  has 
tables,  chairs,  a  filing  cabinet  and  a  hat  rack.  A  por 
tion  of  the  office  is  railed  off  at  the  right.  Within  this 
enclosed  space  is  a  commodious  desk  and  swivel  chair, 
and  the  filing  cabinet  stands  against  the  wall.  This 
railed  off  portion  of  the  office  belongs,  exclusively, 
to  the  Judge.  Here  he  is  wont  to  spend  many  hours 
— sometimes  to  read  or  write — and  again,  perhaps,  he 
will  just  sit  and  ponder  upon  the  vagaries  of  mankind. 
The  Judge  is  a  tall  spare  man  with  rather  long  gray 
hair  which  shows  beneath  the  skull  cap  that  he  always 
wears.  When  We  first  see  him,  he  is  reading  a  letter, 
and  evidently  he  is  not  pleased,  for  he  is  tapping  with 
impatient  fingers  upon  his  desk. 

At  the  left  of  the  stage  is  a  heavily  curtained  door 
which  leads  to  an  inner  room.  At  center  rear  is  an 
other  door  which  evidently  leads  to  the  street,  as  it 
is  through  this  door  that  the  Poor  Man,  the  Vain 
Woman,  and  the  Rich  Citizen  will  presently  enter, 

192 


THE  EXCHANGE  193 

each  upon  his  special  quest.  The  hat  rack  stands 
near  the  street  door  and  we  glimpse  a  soft  black  hat 
and  a  long  black  overcoat  hanging  upon  it. 

Down  stage  to  the  left,  is  a  fiat  topped  desk,  littered 
with  papers  and  letters.  This  desk  has  two  large 
drawers  wherein  a  number  of  miscellaneous  articles 
might  be  kept.  It  is  at  this  desk  that  we  catch  our 
first  glimpse  of  Imp.  He  is  busily  writing  in  a  huge 
ledger  and  he  seems  to  be  enjoying  his  work  for  he 
chuckles  the  while.  Imp  is  a  little  rogue — looks  it 
and  acts  it,  and  we  feel  that  he  has  a  Mephistophclian 
spirit.  He  wears  a  dark  green  tight-fitting  uniform 
trimmed  with  red  braid.  His  saucy  little  round  cap 
is  always  cocked  over  one  eye.  He  is  ever  chuckling 
impishly,  and  We  feel  that  he  is  slyly  gleeful  over  the 
weaknesses  of  mankind  and  the  difficulties  that  beset 
them. 

IMP  (Throws  down  his  pen,  chuckles,  and  half 
standing  on  the  rungs  of  his  chair  and  balancing  him 
self  against  his  desk,  surveys  the  ledger):  Your 
Honor,  I've  all  the  miseries  listed  to  date  and  a  fine 
lot  there  is  to  choose  from.  Everything  from  bunions 
to  old  wives  for  exchange. 

JUDGE  (Scowls  and  impatiently  taps  the  letter  he  is 
reading):  Here  is  another  one.  A  woman  suspects 
her  husband  of  a  misallaince.  Wants  to  catch  him, 
but  is  so  crippled  with  rheumatism  she  can't  get 
about.  Wants  us  to  exchange  her  rheumatism  for 
something  that  won't  interfere  with  either  her  walking 
or  her  eyesight. 

IMP  (Referring  to  the  ledger  and  running  his  finger 


194          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

along  the  lines):  We  have  a  defective  heart  or  a 
lazy  liver  we  could  give  her. 

JUDGE  (Irritably  tossing  the  letter  over  to  Imp): 
She  would  not  be  satisfied.  People  never  are.  They 
always  want  to  change  their  miseries  but  never  their 
vices.  Each  thinks  his  own  cross  heavier  than  others 
have  to  bear.  But  he  is  very  willing  to  make  light 
his  own  shortcomings  and  weaknesses.  He  thinks 
they  are  not  half  so  bad  as  his  neighbors'.  I  have 
tried  for  years  to  aid  distressed  humanity,  but  I  can't 
satisfy  them.  I  am  growing  tired  of  it  all,  Imp. 
People  need  a  lesson  and  they're  going  to  get  it,  too. 
I  am  going  to — 

(Knock  is  heard  at  the  street  door.  Judge  sighs, 
turns  to  his  desk  and  begins  to  write.  Imp  closes  the 
ledger  and  goes  to  answer  the  knock.) 

IMP  :     Here  comes  another  misery. 

(Imp  opens  the  door  to  admit  the  Poor  Man  who 
is  very  shabbily  dressed.  He  hesitates,  looks  around 
the  room  as  if  he  were  in  the  wrong  place  and  then 
addresses  Imp  in  a  loud  whisper.) 

POOR  MAN  (Indicating  the  Judge  with  a  motion  of 
his  head):  Is  that  him? 

IMP  (Whispering  loudly  his  reply):  Yes,  that  is 
His  Honor. 

POOR  MAN  (Still  whispering  and  showing  signs  of 
nervousness):  Do  I  dare  speak  to  him? 

IMP  (Enjoying  the  situation  and  still  whispering): 
Yes,  but  be  careful  what  you  say. 

POOR  MAN  (Takes  off  his  hat,  approaches  slowly 
to  the  railing  and  speaks  humbly) :  Your  Honor,  I  — 


THE  EXCHANGE  195 

(Swallows  hard,  clears  throat.)  Your  Honor,  I've 
a  little  favor — to  ask  of  you. 

JUDGE  (Looking  coldly  at  the  Poor  Man):    Well? 

POOR  MAN  :  You  see,  Your  Honor,  I've  been  poor 
all  my  life.  I've  never  had  much  fun.  I  don't  ask 
for  a  lot  of  money,  But  —  I  would  like  enough 
so  that  I  could  have  some  swell  clothes,  and  — 
so  that  I  could  eat,  drink  and  be  merry  with  the  boys. 
You  know,  I  just  want  to  have  a  good  time.  Do  you 
think  you  could  fix  it  for  me,  Judge? 

JUDGE  (Gazing  at  him  sternly  for  a  moment):  So 
you  just  want  to  have  a  good  time.  Want  me  to  take 
away  your  poverty.  I  suppose  you  have  no  moral 
weakness  you  want  to  change,  no  defects  in  your 
character  that  you  want  to  better? 

POOR  MAN  (Stammering  and  twirling  his  hat): 
Why,  w-h-y,  Judge,  I — 1  am  not  a  bad  man.  Of — 
of  course  I  have  my  faults,  but  then — I've  never 
committed  any  crimes.  I  guess  I  stack  up  pretty  fair 
as  men  go.  I'm  just  awful  tired  of  being  poor  and 
never  having  any  fun.  Couldn't  you  help  me  out  on 
that  point,  Judge  ? 

JUDGE  (Sighs  wearily  and  turns  to  Imp):  Bring 
me  the  ledger.  (Imp  gives  him  the  ledger  in  which 
he  has  been  writing.  Judge  opens  it  and  then  speaks 
sharply  to  the  Poor  Man.)  You  understand  do  you, 
my  good  man,  that  if  I  take  away  your  poverty  and 
and  give  you  enough  money  for  your  good  time,  you 
will  have  to  accept  another  misery? 

POOR  MAN  (Eagerly) :  Yes,  Your  Honor,  that's  all 
right.  I'm  willing. 


196          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JUDGE  (Scanning  ledger):  Very  well.  Let  us  see. 
Here  is  paralysis. 

POOR  MAN  (Hesitatingly):  Well,  I — I  couldn't 
have  a — very  good  time,  if — if  I  was  paralyzed. 

JUDGE  (Sh or tly):  No.  I  suppose  not.  How  about 
a  glass  eye? 

POOR  MAN  (Anxiously):  Please,  Your  Honor,  if 
I'm  going  to  have  a  good  time  I  need  two  good  eyes. 
I  don't  want  to  miss  anything. 

JUDGE  (Wearily  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the  led 
ger):  A  man  left  his  wife  here  for  exchange,  per 
haps  you  would  like  her. 

POOR  MAN  (Shifting  from  one  foot  to  the  other  and 
nervously  twirling  his  hat) :  Oh,  Judge,  oh,  no,  please 
no.  I  don't  want  anybody's  old  cast-off  wife. 

JUDGE  (Becoming  exasperated):  Well,  choose  some 
thing  and  be  quick  about  it.  Here  is  lumbago,  gout, 
fatness,  old  age,  and  — 

IMP  (Interrupting  and  walking  quickly  over  to  the 
railing):  Excuse  me,  Judge,  but  maybe  the  gentle 
man  would  like  the  indigestion  that  Mr.  Potter  left 
when  he  took  old  Mrs.  Pratt's  fallen  arches. 

POOR  MAN  (Eagerly) :  Indigestion  ?  Sure !  That 
will  be  fine !  I  won't  mind  a  little  thing  like  indiges 
tion  if  I  can  get  rid  of  my  poverty. 

JUDGE  (Sternly):  Very  well.  Raise  your  right 
hand.  Repeat  after  me.  "I  swear  to  accept  indiges 
tion  for  better  or  for  worse  as  my  portion  of  the 
world's  miseries,  so  help  me  God." 

POOR  MAN  (Solemnly):  "I  swear  to  accept  indi 
gestion  for  better  or  for  worse  as  my  portion  of  the 
world's  miseries,  so  help  me  God." 


THE  EXCHANGE  197 

JUDGE  (To  Imp):  Show  this  gentleman  to  the 
changing  room.  (Poor  Man  follows  Imp  who  con 
ducts  him  to  the  heavily  curtained  door.  The  Poor 
Man  throws  out  his  chest  and  szvaggers  a  bit  as  a 
man  might  who  had  suddenly  come  into  a  fortune. 
Imp  swaggers  along  with  him.) 

IMP:  Won't  you  have  a  grand  time  though?  I'll 
get  you  a  menu  card  so  that  you  can  be  picking  out 
your  dinner. 

POOR  MAN  (Joyfully  slapping  Imp  on  the  back): 
Good  idea,  and  I'll  pick  out  a  regular  banquet. 
(Pausing  a  moment  before  he  pass'es  through  the 
curtains,  he  smiles  and  smacks  his  lips  in  anticipa 
tion.  Exit.) 

JUDGE  (Speaks  disgustedly  to  Imp) :  There  you 
are!  He's  perfectly  satisfied  with  his  morals.  Has 
no  defects  in  his  character.  Just  wants  to  have  a 
gt>od  time.  (Sighs  heavily  and  turns  back  to  his 
ivriting.  Imp  nods  his  head  in  agreement  and 
chuckles  slyly. 

(The  street  door  opens  slowly  and  the  Vain  Woman 
stands  upon  the  threshold.  She  does  not  enter  at 
once  but  stands  posing, — presumably  she  desires  to 
attract  attention,  and  she  is  worthy  of  it.  She  has  c: 
superb  figure  and  her  rich  gowning  enhances  it.  Her 
fair  face  reveals  a  shallow  prettiness,  but  the  wrinkles 
of  age  are  beginning  to  leave  telltale  lines  upon  its 
smoothness.  As  Imp  hurries  forward  to  usher  her 
in,  she  sweeps  grandly  past  him  to  the  center  of  the 
stage.  Imp  stops  near  the  door  with  his  hands  on 
his  hips  staring  after  her,  then  takes  a  few  steps  in 
imitation  of  her.  She  turns  around  slowly  and  saun- 


198          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

tering  over  to  the  railing,  coughs  affectedly,  and  as 
the  Judge  rises  and  bows  curtly,  she  speaks  in  a  coax 
ing  manner.) 

VAIN  WOMAN  :  Judge,  I  have  heard  that  you  are 
very  kind,  and  I  have  been  told  that  you  help  people 
out  of  their  troubles,  so  I  have  a  little  favor  to  ask 
of  you. 

JUDGE   (Coldly):    Yes,  I  supposed  so,  go  on. 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Archly):  Well,  you  know  that  I 
am  a  famous  beauty,  in  fact  both  my  face  and  my 
form  are  considered  very  lovely.  (She  turns  around 
slowly  that  he  may  see  for  himself.)  Great  and  cele 
brated  men  have  worshiped  at  my  feet.  I  simply  can 
not  live  without  admiration.  It  is  my  very  life.  But, 
Judge,  (plaintively)  horrid  wrinkles  are  beginning  to 
show  in  my  face.  (Intensely) :  Oh,  I  would  give 
anything,  do  anything,  to  have  a  smooth,  youthful 
face  once  more.  Please,  oh,  please,  Judge, 
won't  you  take  away  these  wrinkles  (touching  her 
face  with  her  fingers)  and  give  me  something  in 
their  stead? 

JUDGE  (Looking  directly  at  her  and  speaking 
coldly):  Are  you  satisfied  with  yourself  in  other 
ways?  Is  your  character  as  beautiful  as  your  face? 
Have  you  no  faults  or  weaknesses  that  you  want 
exchanged  ? 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Uncertainly) :  Why,  I — don't  know 
what  you  mean.  I  am  just  as  good  as  any  other 
woman  and  lots  better  than  some  I  know.  I  go  to 
church,  and  I  subscribe  to  the  charities  and  I  belong 
to  the  best  clubs.  (Anxiously):  Oh,  please,  Judge, 
it's  these  wrinkles  that  make  me  so  unhappy.  Won't 


THE  EXCHANGE  199 

you  exchange  them ;  you  don't  want  me  to  be  unhappy 
do  you?  Please  take  them  away. 

JUDGE  (Wearily  looking  over  the  ledger):  Oh, 
very  well,  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  for  you.  (To  Imp) : 
Fetch  a  chair  for  this  lady.  (Imp  gives  her  a  chair 
and  she  sits  facing  front.  Imp  returns  to  his  desk, 
perches  himself  upon  it  and  watches  the  Vain  Woman 
interestedly.  Judge  turns  over  the  leaves  of  the 
ledger.)  I  have  a  goiter  that  I  could  exchange  for 
your  wrinkles. 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Protestingly,  clasping  her  hands  to 
her  throat) :  Oh,  heavens,  no !  That  would  ruin  my 
beautiful  throat.  See  (throwing  back  her  fur  and 
exposing  her  neck  in  a  low  cut  gown)  I  have  a  lovely 
neck.  (Imp  makes  an  exaggerated  attempt  to  see.) 

JUDGE  (Glances  coldly  at  her  and  then  scans  ledger 
again):  Well,  how  about  hay  fever? 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Reproachfully):  Oh,  Judge,  how 
can  you  suggest  such  a  thing !  Watery  eyes  and  a  red 
nose,  the  worst  enemy  of  beauty  there  is.  I  simply 
couldn't  think  of  it.  I  want  something  that  won't 
show. 

JUDGE  (Disgustedly  turns  to  filing  cabinet  and  looks 
through  a  series  of  cards,  unthdraivs  one  and  turns 
to  Vain  Woman):  Perhaps  this  will  suit  you. 
(Refers  to  card.)  A  woman  has  grown  very  tired  of 
her  husband  and  wants  to  exchange  him  for  some 
other  burden. 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Indignantly):  What!  I  accept  a 
man  that  some  other  woman  doesn't  want!  Cer 
tainly  not!  I  prefer  one  that  some  other  woman 
does  want. 


200          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JUDGE  (Irritated,  puts  the  card  back  in  its  place  and 
turns  upon  the  Vain  Woman  crossly):  I  fear  that  I 
can  not  please  you  and  I  do  not  have  time  to — 

IMP  (Interrupts  and  runs  over  to  the  railing,  speak 
ing  soothingly  to  the  Judge):  Excuse  me,  Judge,  but 
maybe  the  lady  would  like  deafness  in  exchange  for 
her  wrinkles.  Deafness  wouldn't  show,  so  it  couldn't 
spoil  her  face  or  her  elegant  figure. 

JUDGE  (Wearily):  No,  it  won't  show.  Deafness 
ought  to  be  a  good  thing  for  you. 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Consideringly):  Why — yes, — that 
might  do.  But — well,  it  wouldn't  show.  I've  a 
notion  to  take  it.  (Pause,  she  seems  to  consider  and 
meditate.  The  Judge  stares  at  her  coldly.  Imp 
grins  impudently.  She  rises  leisurely,  sighs.)  All 
right.  I'll  accept  it. 

JUDGE  (Sharply):  Hold  up  your  right  hand.  (She 
raises  hand.)  Do  you  swear  to  accept  deafness  for 
better  or  for  worse  as  your  portion  of  the  world's 
miseries,  so  help  you  God? 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Sweetly):    Oh,  yes.     I  do,  Judge. 

JUDGE  (To  Imp):  Show  the  lady  to  the  changing 
room. 

IMP  (Escorts  her  to  the  curtained  door  with  rather 
mock  deference):  No,  deafness  won't  show  at  all, 
and  you'll  have  'em  all  crazy  about  you.  (Draws 
aside  curtains  for  her  to  pass.)  Take  second  booth 
to  your  right.  (Vain  Woman  stands  posing  a  mo 
ment,  she  smiles  radiantly  and  pats  her  checks  softly 
with  her  hands,  then  with  a  long  drawn  sigh  of  happi 
ness,  she  exits.  Imp  bows  low  and  mockingly  after 
her  vanishing  form,  his  hands  on  his  heart.) 


THE  EXCHANGE  201 

JUDGE  (Sarcastically) :  Do  her  faults  or  shortcom 
ings  trouble  her?  Not  at  all!  Perfectly  satisfied 
with  herself  except  for  a  few  wrinkles  in  her  face. 
Vain  woman,  bah ! 

IMP:  Yes,  sir,  women  have  queer  notions.  (An 
imperative  rap  at  the  street  door,  immediately  fol 
lowed  by  the  rapper's  abrupt  entrance.  We  see  an 
important-appearing  personage.  His  arrogant  bear 
ing  and  commanding  pose  lead  us  to  believe  that  he 
is  accustomed  to  prompt  attention.  It  is  the  Rich 
Citizen,  exceedingly  well  groomed.  His  manner  is 
lordly,  but  he  addresses  the  Judge  in  a  bored  tone. 
When  Imp  scampers  to  meet  him,  the  Rich  Citizen 
hands  him  his  hat  and  cane  and  turns  at  once  to  the 
Judge.  Imp  examines  the  hat  and  cane  critically, 
hangs  them  on  the  hat  rack,  and  returns  to  his  desk 
where  he  again  perches  to  ^vatch  the  Rich  Citizen.) 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Lighting  a  cigarette):  I  am  ad 
dressing  the  Judge,  am  I  not? 

JUDGE  (Shortly):     You  are. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Languidly,  between  puffs  of  his 
cigarette):  Well,  Judge,  life  has  become  rather  bore- 
some,  so  I  thought  I  would  drop  in  and  ask  you  to 
do  me  a  small  favor. 

JUDGE  (Wearily):  Yes?  Well,  what  is  your 
grievance  ? 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Nonchalantly) :  Oh,  I  wouldn't  say 
grievance  exactly.  You  see,  my  dear  Judge,  it  is  this 
way.  I  am  a  very  rich  and  influential  citizen,  a 
prominent  member  of  society,  and  I  am  very  much 
sought  after. 

JUDGE   (Frigidly):     Oh,   indeed! 


202         A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

RICH  CITIZEN  (In  a  very  bored  manner):  Yes. 
Women  run  after  me  day  and  night.  Ambitious 
mothers  throw  their  marriageable  daughters  at  my 
head.  Men  seek  my  advice  on  all  matters.  I  am 
compelled  to  head  this  and  that  committee.  (Smokes 
languidly.) 

JUDGE  (Sharply):    Well,  go  on. 

RICH  CITIZEN  :  Really,  Judge,  my  prestige  has 
become  a  burden.  I  want  to  get  away  from  it  all.  I 
would  like  to  become  a  plain  ordinary  man  with  an 
humble  vocation,  the  humbler  the  better,  so  that  people 
will  cease  bothering  me. 

JUDGE  (Sarcastically):  Is  your  prestige  all  that 
troubles  you?  Don't  worry  about  your  morals  I  sup 
pose.  Satisfied  with  your  habits  and  character? 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Coldly):  What  have  my  habits  or 
morals  got  to  do  with  my  request?  (Scornfully): 
Certainly  I  am  not  one  of  your  saintly  men.  I  live 
as  a  man  of  my  station  should  live,  and  I  think  I 
measure  up  very  well  with  the  best  of  them.  I  am 
simply  bored  and  I  would  like  a  change.  I  would 
like  to  be  a  plain  man  with  an  humble  calling. 

JUDGE  (Ironically):  I'll  see  what  we  have  in 
humble  callings.  (He  looks  at  the  ledger,  turning  the 
leaves  over  slowly.)  We  have  several  bartender's 
vocations. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Wearily  smoking):  No.  Too 
many  people  about  all  the  time,  and  too  much  noise. 

JUDGE:     Well,  here's  a  janitor's  job  open  to  you. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Impatiently  throwing  away  his 
cigarette):  No.  I  don't  like  that  either.  Too  con 
fining.  Too  many  people  bickering  at  you  all  the 


THE  EXCHANGE  203 

time.  I  want  to  get  out  in  the  open  away  from 
crowds. 

JUDGE  (Sighing  and  turning  over  the  leaves  of  the 
ledger,  then  hopefully):  Here's  the  very  thing  for 
you  then, — postman  in  a  rural  district. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Showing  vexation):  No,  no,  NO. 
Too  many  old  women  that  want  to  gossip.  I  tell  you 
I  want  to  get  away  from  women.  Haven't  you  some 
thing  peaceful  and  quiet;  something  that  would  take 
me  out  in  the  quiet  of  the  early  morning  when  the 
birds  are  singing? 

JUDGE  (Closing  ledger  with  a  bang  and,  rising): 
Well,  you're  too  particular  and  I  have  not  time  to 
bother  with  you.  I  bid  you  good  after — 

IMP  (Slides  from  his  desk,  runs  to  railing,  and 
speaks  suavely):  Excuse  me,  Judge,  but  maybe  the 
gentleman  would  like  the  vocation  of  milkman.  That 
is  early  morning  work.  And  you  remember  a  milk 
man  left  his  job  here  when  he  took  that  old  worn-out 
senator's  position. 

JUDGE  (Sharply  to  Rich  Citizen):  Well,  how 
about  it?  Does  a  milkman's  vocation  suit  you?  It's 
early  morning  hours,  fresh  air,  and  no  people  about. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Musingly):  Well,  the  very  sim 
plicity  and  quietness  of  it  is  its  charm.  It  rather 
appeals  to  me.  (He  ponders  a  moment):  Yes,  by 
Jove,  I'll  take  it. 

JUDGE  (Sternly):  Hold  up  your  right  hand. 
(Hand  is  raised.)  Do  you  solemnly  swear  to  accept 
for  better  or  for  worse  the  vocation  of  milkman  as 
your  lot  in  life,  so  help  you  God? 

RICH  CITIZEN:    I  do. 


204          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

JUDGE  (To  Imp):  Show  this  gentleman  to  the 
changing  room. 

IMP  (While  escorting  him  to  the  curtained  door): 
Yes,  sir,  you  will  lead  the  simple  life.  Fresh  air, 
fresh  milk,  no  people,  just  cows  and  they 
can't  talk.  (Holding  aside  the  curtains.)  Third 
booth,  sir. 

RICH  CITIZEN  (Musingly):  The  simple  life, — 
peace  and  quietness.  (Exit.) 

JUDGE  (In  disgust):  It's  no  use,  Imp.  They  all 
cling  to  their  vices,  but  they  are  very  keen  to  change 
some  little  cross  or  condition  that  vexes  them, — or 
that  they  think  vexes  them. 

IMP:  It's  funny  that  people  always  want  some 
thing  different  from  what  they  have.  (Imp  opens  a 
drawer  In  his  desk  and  takes  out  a  bottle,  evidently 
filled  with  tablets,  which  he  holds  up,  shaking  It  and 
chuckling.  He  hunts  In  the  draiver  again  and  this 
time  brings  forth  a  huge  ear  trumpet  which  he 
chuckllngly  places  on  his  table  beside  the  bottle  of 
tablets.) 

JUDGE  :  Don't  let  any  more  in,  Imp.  I  can't  stand 
another  one  to-day.  I  am  going  to  write  a  letter  and 
then  go  home. 

IMP:     All  right,  sir. 

JUDGE  :  I  am  feeling  very  tired ;  what  I  really  need 
is  a  vacation.  A  sea  trip  would  put  me  right.  By 
the  way,  Imp,  where  is  that  Trans-Atlantic  Folder 
that  I  told  you  to  get? 

(Imp  picks  up  the  Folder  from  his  desk  and  takes 
It  to  the  Judge  who  studies  It  attentively.  Imp  re 
turns  to  his  own  desk  where  he  again  looks  In  a 


THE  EXCHANGE  205 

drawer  and  brings  forth  a  menu  card  which  he  glances 
over,  grinning  mischievously. 

(The  former  Poor  Man  reenters  from  the  changing 
room.  He  is  well  dressed,  and  taking  a  well  filled 
wallet  from  his  pocket,  he  looks  at  it  gloatingly. 
However,  from  time  to  time,  a  shade  of  annoyance 
passes  over  his  face,  and  he  puts  his  hand  to  the  pit 
of  his  stomach.  Imp  runs  to  meet  him  and  hands 
him  the  menu  that  he  has  been  reading.) 

IMP:  Here's  a  menu  from  the  Gargoyle.  Say, 
you  sure  do  look  swell !  (Looking  him  over  admir 
ingly.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Grinning  happily):  Some 
class  to  me  now,  eh!  (Looking  at  menu):  And  you 
watch  me  pick  out  a  real  dinner.  (Sits  down  at  left 
front.)  First,  I'll  have  a  cocktail ;  then,  let's  see,  I'll 
have — another  one.  Next,  oysters,  and  (he  frowns 
and  presses  his  hand  to  the  pit  of  his  stomach  keeping 
up  a  massaging  motion)  green  turtle  soup,  sand  dabs, 
— chicken  breasts — (they  become  absorbed  over  the 
menu. 

(The  Vain  Woman  reenters  from  the  changing 
room.  She  now  has  a  smooth  face,  and  she  is  look 
ing  at  herself  in  a  liand  glass,  smiling  and  touching 
her  face  delightedly.  She  walks  over  to  the  railing 
and  leans  over  it  to  the  Judge.  He  looks  up  question- 
ingly.) 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Smiling):  Oh,  I  am  so  happy 
again.  Am  I  not  beautiful? 

JUDGE  (Pityingly) :   You  are  a  vain,  foolish  woman. 

VAIN  WOMAN  :  (Since  she  is  deaf,  she  does  not 
hear  his  words,  but  thinks  he  is  complimenting  her. 


206          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

She  smiles  at  him  coyly.)  Ah,  Judge,  you  too  are 
susceptible  to  my  charms. 

(The  Judge  in  great  exasperation  puts  away  his 
papers,  thrusts  the  Trans-Atlantic  Folder  in  his 
pocket,  hastily  closes  his  desk  and  hurries  to  the  hat 
rack,  puts  on  his  overcoat,  slips  his  skull  cap  in  his 
pocket  and  puts  on  his  soft  black  hat.  Then  with  a 
shrug  of  his  shoulders  and  $  wave  of  his  hand  indica 
tive  of  disgust,  he  slips  quietly  out. 

(The  Vain  Woman  saunters  past  the  former  Poor 
Man,  stops  near  him  posing,  and  begins  to  put  on  her 
gloves.  He  looks  at  her  admiringly,  then  getting  to 
his  feet,  makes  an  elaborate  but  awkward  bow.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  :  Excuse  me,  lady,  but  I've 
had  a  big  piece  of  luck  to-day  and  I  want  to  celebrate, 
so  I  am  having  a  big  dinner.  Won't  you  join  me  and 
help  me  have  a  good  time? 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Looking  at  him  blankly  and  trying 
to  fathom  what  he  has  said):  Oh,  why,  what  did 
you  say? 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Hesitating  and  a  bit  sur 
prised):  Why, — er, — I  said  that  I  had  a  big  piece 
of  luck  to-day  and  I  am  going  to  celebrate.  I  am 
having  a  fine  dinner,  and  I  just  asked  if — if — you 
wouldn't  have  dinner  with  me. 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Still  looking  blank  and  a  little  con 
fused,  then  smiling  archly  and  acting  as  though  she 
had  been  hearing  compliments,  she  speaks  affectedly): 
Really,  do  you  think  so?  (Looking  down  and  smooth 
ing  her  dress):  But  then  every  one  tells  me  that  I 
am. 


THE  EXCHANGE  207 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Puzzled,  turns  to  Imp  for 
help):  Just  what  is  her  trouble,  Nut? 

IMP  (Secretly  gleeful):  She  is  stone  deaf.  You 
had  better  write  it. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  :  Never !  No  deaf  ones  for 
me.  (Turns  away  and  consults  menu  again.  Vain 
Woman  poses  and  frequently  looks  in  hand  glass  to 
reassure  herself. 

(Former  Rich  Citizen  reenters  from  the  changing 
room.  He  is  dressed  in  shabby  overalls,  jumper  and 
an  old  hat.  He  has  a  pipe  in  his  mouth.  He  walks 
arrogantly  over  to  the  former  Poor  Man  and  ad 
dresses  him.) 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  :     Give  me  a  light. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Trying  to  live  up  to  his  fine 
clothes  and  wallet  full  of  money,  looks  the  former 
Rich  Citizen  over  snubbingly):  Say,  who  do  you 
think  you  are?  You  light  out,  see? 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Very  much  surprised, 
stands  nonplussed  a  moment) :  Well,  upon  my  word, 
I — I — (He  stops  short  in  his  speech,  walks  haughtily 
over  to  the  railing  where  he  stands  glowering  at  the 
former  Poor  Man.  The  Former  Poor  Man  starts 
for  the  street  door,  but  Imp  runs  after  him,  waving 
the  bottle  of  tablets.) 

IMP  :     I'll  sell  you  these  for  two  bits. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN:     What  is  that? 

IMP  (Grinning):     Indigestion  tablets. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Puts  his  hand  to  his  stomach 
and  laughs  a  little  lamely):  Keep  'em;  I  don't  need 
'em.  (Exit.) 


208          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(Vain  Woman  fastens  her  fur  and  starts  for  the 
street  door,  giving  the  Former  Rich  Citizen  a  snubbing 
look  as  she  passes  him.  Imp  stops  her  and  offers 
the  ear  trumpet.) 

IMP  :     You  might  need  this ;  I'll  sell  it  for  a  dollar. 

(She  does  not  hear  what  he  says  but  she  looks  her 
scorn  at  the  ear  trumpet  and  walks  proudly  out.) 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Fumbling  at  his  pocket  as 
if  to  find  a  watch):  Boy,  what  time  is  it;  I  haven't 
my  watch. 

IMP  (Grinning  mischievously):  Time  to  milk  the 
cows. 

(The  former  Rich  Citizen  starts  angrily  toward 
Imp,  then  evidently  thinking  better  of  it,  shrugs  his 
shoulders  and  stalks  majestically  to  the  street  door. 
He  pauses  with  it  partly  open,  turns  as  if  to  speak  to 
Imp,  drawing  himself  up  haughtily — a  ludicrous 
figure  in  his  shabby  outfit — then  he  goes  abruptly  out, 
slamming  the  door.  Imp  doubles  himself  up  in  a 
paroxysm  of  glee  as  the  curtain  falls.) 

SCENE  n 

(A  fortnight  has  passed.  The  curtain  rises  upon 
the  same  stage  setting.  The  Judge  is  not  about,  but 
we  see  Imp  asleep  in  a  chair.  All  seems  quiet  and 
serene  but  suddenly  the  street  door  opens  noisily  and 
the  Former  Poor  Man  bursts  into  the  room.  He  is 
panting  as  though  he  had  been  been  running.  He  is 
haggard  and  seems  in  great  pain,  for  occasionally  he 
moans.  He  looks  wildly  about  the  room  and  seeing 
Imp  asleep  in  the  chair,  he  rushes  to  him  and  shakes 


THE  EXCHANGE  209 

him  roughly.  Imp  wakes,  slowly  yawning  and 
rubbing  his  eyes.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Frantically):  The  Judge, 
where  is  he,  I  must  see  him  at  once. 

IMP  (Yawning):  You're  too  early.  He  isn't 
down  yet.  (Settles  himself  to  go  to  sleep  again.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Walking  the  floor  and  holding 
his  hands  to  his  stomach):  Don't  go  to  sleep  again. 
I'm  nearly  crazy.  What  time  does  the  Judge  get 
here  ?  Where  does  he  live ;  can't  we  send  for  him  ? 

IMP  (Indifferently):  Oh,  he  is  liable  to  come  any 
minute,  and  then  he  may  not  come  for  an  hour  or 
two. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Pacing  the  floor,  moaning  and 
rubbing  his  stomach):  Oh,  I  can't  stand  it  much 
longer.  It's  driving  me  wild  I  tell  you.  I  do  wish 
the  Judge  would  come. 

IMP  (Getting  up  from  his  chair  and  keeping  step 
with  the  Poor  Man):  What's  the  matter;  I  thought 
all  you  wanted  was  to  eat,  drink  and  be  merry. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Frantically  waving  his  arms): 
Eat,  drink  and  be  merry,  be  damned.  Everything  I 
eat  gives  me  indigestion  something  awful;  everything 
I  drink  gives  it  to  me  worse.  How  can  I  be  merry 
when  I  am  in  this  torment  all  the  time?  I  tell  you 
this  pain  is  driving  me  mad !  I  want  to  get  rid  of  it 
quick.  Oh,  why  doesn't  the  Judge  come? 

IMP:     What's  the  Judge  got  to  do  with  it? 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Pathetically):  I  am  going  to 
beg  him  to  take  back  this  indigestion  and  give  me 
back  my  poverty.  It  was  not  so  bad  after  all,  not 
nearly  so  bad  as  this  darned  pain  in  my  stomach. 


210          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

(The  street  door  opens  slowly  and  a  sorrowful 
woman  enters.  She  is  weeping  softly.  It  is  the  Vain 
Woman.  Gone  is  her  posing  and  her  proud  manner. 
She  walks  humbly  to  the  railing,  and  not  seeing  the 
Judge,  she  turns  to  Imp.  The  Former  Poor  Man 
looks  at  the  Fain  Woman  frowningly  muttering 
"What's  she  here  for?"  Then  he  sits  down  at  the 
left  and  rocks  back  and  forth  in  misery.) 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Tearfully):  I  must  see  the  Judge 
right  away,  please. 

IMP  (Languidly):  He  isn't  down  yet.  You're 
too  earl — 

VAIN  WOMAN  (Interrupting):  Tell  him  that  it  is 
very  important,  that  I  am  in  great  distress  and  that 
he  must  see  me  at  once. 

IMP  (Loudly):  I  said  that  he  was  not  down  yet. 
(Seeing  that  she  does  not  understand,  he  takes  a 
writing  pad  from  his  desk,  scribbles  a  few  words, 
and  standing  in  front  of  her  holds  it  up  for  her  to 
read.) 

VAIN  WOMAN  (After  reading):  Oh,  when  will  he 
be  here?  Can't  you  get  him  to  come  right  away? 
Oh,  I  am  so  unhappy.  (She  walks  the  floor  in  agita 
tion.  The  Former  Poor  Man  grunts  in  irritation  and 
turns  his  back  on  her.)  I  can  not  hear  a  word  that 
is  said  to  me.  No  one  seems  to  want  me  around, 
and  I  am  not  invited  out  any  more.  I  have  the  feel 
ing  that  people  are  making  fun  of  me  instead  of  prais 
ing  my  beauty.  Oh,  it  is  dreadful  to  be  deaf! 
(Getting  hysterical)  I  want  the  Judge  to  take  away 
this  deafness.  I  would  rather  have  my  wrinkles. 
(Imp  shakes  his  head  in  pretended  sympathy  saying, 


THE  EXCHANGE  211 

"Too  bad,  too  bad."  She  misunderstands  and  cries 
out) :  Has  the  Judge  given  away  my  wrinkles  ?  I 
want  them  back;  I  want  my  very  own  wrinkles,  too. 
Wrinkles  are  distinguished-looking.  (Beginning  to 
sob.)  I  don't  want  to  be  deaf  any  longer. 

IMP  (Running  over  to  the  Former  Poor  Man): 
Say,  this  lady  feels  very  bad ;  can't  you  cheer  her  up  a 
little? 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Who  is  still  rocking  back  and 
forth  with  his  own  misery,  looks  up  at  Imp  in  dis 
gust):  Cheer — her — up,  me?  What's  the  joke? 

(The  Vain  Woman  walks  to  the  curtained  door, 
looks  in  as  if  seeking  something,  then  returns  to  a 
chair  where  she  sits  weeping  softly. 

(A  peculiar  thumping  is  heard  at  the  street  door. 
The  Former  Poor  Man  jumps  to  his  feet  in  expect 
ancy,  hoping  it  is  the  Judge.  Imp,  also,  stands  wait 
ing.  The  door  opens  as  though  the  person  that 
opened  it  did  so  with  difficulty.  The  Former  Rich 
Citizen  hobbles  in.  He  is  ragged  and  dirty  and  one 
foot  is  bandaged,  which  causes  him  to  use  a  crutch. 
He  carries  a  large  milk  can.  He  hobbles  painfully 
to  the  center  of  the  stage.  The  Former  Poor  Man 
grunts  with  disappointment  and  sits  down  again 
rubbing  away  at  his  stomach.  The  Fain  Woman  sits 
with  bowed  head  silently  weeping.  The  Former  Rich 
Citizen  looks  about;  then  addresses  Imp  in  rather  a 
husky  voice.) 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN:  I  wish  to  see  the  Judge 
at  once.  It  is  most  urgent. 

IMP  (With  an  ill  concealed  smile):  You  can't  see 
the  Judge  at  once. 


212          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Impatiently):  Why  not, 
I  told  you  it  was  most  urgent. 

IMP  (Grinning  openly):  Because  he  isn't  here. 
He  hasn't  come  in  yet.  What's  your  trouble? 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Vehemently):  Trouble! 
Everything's  the  trouble!  I  have  been  abused,  in 
sulted,  overworked, — even  the  cows  have  kicked  me. 
(Looking  down  at  his  bandaged  foot.)  I  can't  stand 
it.  I  want  back  my  proper  place  in  the  world  where 
I  am  respected,  and  where  I  can  rest  and  sleep,  and 
mingle  with  my  kind.  (He  hobbles  to  a  chair  and 
sits  down  wearily.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Getting  up  from  his  chair, 
^valks  over  to  the  former  Rich  Citizen,  ivaggles  his 
finger  in  his  face  and  speaks  fretfully) :  What  cause 
have  you  to  squeal  so?  If  you  had  indigestion  like 
I  have  all  the  time,  you  might  be  entitled  to  raise  a 
holler.  Why,  I  can't  eat  a  thing  without  having  the 
most  awful  pain  right  here,  (puts  his  hand  to  the  pit 
of  his  stomach)  and  when  I  take  a  drink,  oh,  heavens, 
it— 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Interrupting  contemptu 
ously):  You  big  baby,  howling  about  the  stomach 
ache.  If  you  had  a  man-sized  trouble,  there  might  be 
some  excuse  for  you.  Now  I,  who  have  been  used 
to  wealth  and  respect,  have  been  subjected  to  the 
most  grueling  ordeals ;  why  in  that  dairy  there  were 
a  million  cows  and  they  kicked  me,  and  horned  me, 
and  I — 

VAIN  WOMAN:  (Walks  over  to  them,  interrupt 
ing  their  talk,  and  speaks  in  a  voice  punctuated  with 


THE  EXCHANGE  213 

sniffling  sobs.)  Have — (sniff)  either  of  you  gentle 
men  (sniff)  ever  been  deaf;  (sniff,  sniff)  it  is  a  ter 
rible  thing  (sniff)  for  a  beautiful  woman  like  I  am 
(sniff)  to  have  such  an  affliction.  (Sniff,  sniff,  sniff.) 

(Former  Rich  Citizen  shrugs  his  shoulders  in 
differently  and  limps  to  the  other  side  of  the  stage 
where  he  sits.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  :  (Stalks  over  to  the  railing 
where  he  leans  limply.)  Lord  deliver  me  from  a 
sniffling  woman. 

(Imp  who  is  perched  on  his  desk,  chuckles  wickedly 
at  their  sufferings.  Vain  Woman  sinks  dejectedly 
into  the  chair  vacated  by  the  Former  Rich  Citizen. 

(A  knock  is  heard  at  the  street  door.  The  Former 
Poor  Man  and  the  Former  Rich  Citizen  start  up 
eagerly,  expecting  the  Judge.  Even  the  Vain  Woman, 
seeing  the  others  rise,  gets  to  her  feet  hopefully. 
Imp  hastily  slides  from  his  desk,  and  pulling  down 
his  tight  little  jacket  and  cocking  his  round  little  hat 
a  trifle  more  over  one  eye,  goes  jauntily  to  see  who 
knocks.  A  messenger  hands  him  a  letter  and  silently 
departs.) 

IMP  (Importantly):  Letter  for  me  from  the 
Judge. 

FORMER  POOR  MAN:  A  letter!  Why  doesn't  he 
come  himself? 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN:     Send  for  him,  boy. 

IMP  (Grins  insolently  at  the  Former  Rich  Citizen): 
Well,  well,  I  wonder  what  the  Judge  is  writing  to 
me  about.  It's  queer  that  he  would  send  me  a  letter. 
(He  looks  the  letter  over  carefully,  both  sides,  holds 


214          A  BOOK  OF  ONE-ACT  PLAYS 

it  up  to  the  light,  shakes  it,  smells  it.  The  two  men 
and  the  zvoman  grow  more  and  more  nervous.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Extremely  irritated):  For 
God's  sake,  open  it  and  read  it. 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  :  Yes,  yes,  don't  be  so  long 
about  it. 

(Vain  Woman  simply  stands  pathetically  and  waits. 
Imp  walks  over  to  his  desk,  hunts  around  for  a  paper- 
knife,  finally  finds  one;  looks  the  letter  over  again 
and  at  last  slits  the  envelope  and  draws  out  the  letter 
which  he  reads  silently,  not  letting  the  others  see. 
They  are  breathlessly  waiting.  Imp  whistles  softly 
in  surprise.) 

IMP:     Well,  what  do  you  think  of  that! 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (Excitedly):  What  is  it,  why 
don't  you  tell  us? 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Pounding  with  his  crutch 
on  the  iloor):  Come,  come,  don't  keep  me  waiting 
like  this. 

IMP  (Reads  letter  again,  silently,  chuckling):  All 
right.  Here  it  is.  (Reads):  "My  dear  Imp.  I  have 
tried  faithfully  for  years  to  aid  distressed  humanity, 
but  they  are  an  ungrateful  lot  of  fools  and  I  wash 
my  hands  of  them.  When  this  letter  reaches  you, 
I  will  be  on  the  high  seas  and  I  am  never  coming  back. 
So,  write  finis  in  the  big  old  ledger  of  miseries  and 
shut  up  the  shop  for  the  Exchange  is  closed  forever. 
Yours  in  disgust,  The  Judge." 

(They  all  stand  dazed  a  moment.  The  Vain 
Woman,  sensing  that  something  terrible  has  happened, 
rushes  from  one  to  the  other  saying,  "What  is  it, 


THE  EXCHANGE  215 

what  has  happened?"  Imp  gives  her  the  letter  to 
read.) 

FORMER  POOR  MAN  (In  a  perfect  frenzy):  My 
God!  Indigestion  all  the  rest  of  my  days! 

VAIN  WOMAN  (After  reading  letter  collapses  in  a 
chair,  hysterically  sobbing  out):  Deaf,  always  deaf, 
oh,  what  shall  I  do! 

FORMER  RICH  CITIZEN  (Leaning  heavily  on  his 
crutch  and  shaking  his  free  hand  clenched  in  anger): 
This  is  an  outrage.  I  am  rich  and  have  influence  and 
I  shall  take  steps  to — to — 

(Imp  laughs  mockingly.  The  man  looks  down  at 
his  milk  spattered  clothes,  his  bandaged  foot,  and 
letting  his  crutch  fall  to  the  floor,  sinks  dejectedly  into 
a  chair  burying  his  face  in  his  hands. 

(Imp  dangles  his  keys  and  opens  the  street  door  as 
an  invitation  for  them  to  go.  The  Former  Poor  Man 
is  the  first  to  start,  moving  dazedly  and  breathing 
hard.  Imp  offers  him  the  bottle  of  indigestion  tab 
lets;  the  man  grasps  them  eagerly,  tipping  Imp,  who 
chuckles  as  he  pockets  the  money.  The  Poor  Man 
takes  a  tablet  as  he  exits.  The  Vain  Woman,  bowed 
with  sorrow,  moves  slowly  toward  the  door.  Imp 
touches  her  arm  and  offers  the  ear  trumpet ;  she  ac 
cepts  it  with  a  wild  sob,  tipping  Imp  who  again 
chuckles  as  he  pockets  the  money.  The  last  we  see 
of  the  Vain  Woman  she  is  trying  to  hold  the  ear 
trumpet  to  her  ear  and  exits  sobbing.  The  Former 
Rich  Citizen  still  sits  in  his  chair  his  head  in  his 
hands.  Imp  picks  up  the  milk  can,  and  tapping  the 
man  not  too  gently  on  the  shoulder,  thrusts  the  milk 


216         A-  BOOK  OF  ONE- ACT  PLAYS 

can  at  him  and  makes  a  significant  gesture,  indicative 
of— THIS  WAY  OUT.  The  man  rises  dejectedly, 
picks  up  his  crutch,  takes  the  milk  can  and  hobbles 
painfully  toward  the  door.  Imp  doubles  himself  up 
in  wild  Mephistophelian  glee  as  the 

CURTAIN  FALLS 


OF 


DEPi 


